\JiJii  l^"*- 


, 

r— 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 

' 

THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 

CJ^ 


AT   AISTOHOR 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR. 


BY 


NEW  yore:  : 

D.     APPLETOiT    AND     COMPANY, 

.443     &    445     BROADWAY. 

1865. 


ExTEEED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  Xew 
lurt. 


AT  ANCHOR: 

A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL     WAR, 


CHAPTER    I. 


"  Kate,  you  are  nearest  the  door,  do  ask  Bessie 
which  of  us  is  in  hick  now."  So  spoke  Emma  Lewis, 
as  the  door-hell  ceased  its  second  rinscino'. 

"  Wait  until  she  is  graciously  pleased  to  inform 
us,"  reiDlied  my  cousin  Kate,  who  was  at  that  moment 
engaged  in  tying  her  slij^per,  a  performance  she  never 
hurried.  She  had  a  small  foot,  had  Kate,  but  then  she 
was  under  size  herself. 

"  Xo  need,  Emma,"  added  Marv  Allen,  lau2:hino'. 
"  Of  course  Kate  is  the  chosen  one  ;  who  but  Gilbert 
Stuart  would  have  so  little  consideration  for  our  luzy 
toilettes  as  to  call  before  seven  ?  " 

"  Konsense !  "  Kate  ejaculated,  blushing  as  in  duty 
bound ;  whereupon  Emma  gave  me  a  wicked  side- 
glance,  for  everybody,  except  poor  silly  Kate,  knew 


4  AT   AXCHOE  : 

very  well  whose  eyes  lightened  Gilbert  Stuart's  way 
to  my  uncle  Tom's  dear  old  home. 

Bessie,  as  foretold  by  the  wise  Mary,  announced 
him. 

"  There,  Kate  !  Now,  Kate  !  "  cried  Emma,  pre- 
tending to  help,  but  in  reality  greatly  retarding  Kate's 
efforts  to  dress.  "  Bless  me !  not  that  eternal  silk. 
Why  you'll  melt  the  man  ! " 

"Kate  has  no  objection,  I  suppose,"  said  Mary, 
with  more  malice  than  one  would  expect  from  a  girl 
with  a  "vocation,"  for  Mary  was  to  be  a  nun,  she 
said. 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  all  tease  me,"  Kate  mut- 
tered, pretending  to  be  vexed.  "  I  am  sure  Mr.  Stuart 
pays  just  as  much  attention  to  Georgie  as  to  me :  why 
don't  you  tease  hej-  ?  " 

"Georgie!"  exclaimed  the  girls,  in  arch  chorus, 
"  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ! " 

"  Do  make  them  stop,"  pleaded  Kate,  turning  to 
me  ;  but  I  said  nothing.  I  was  counting,  by  the  beat- 
ings of  my  heart,  the  few  seconds  necessary  for  me  to 
give  to  them,  as  proof  of  indifference  to  the  visitor  be- 
low ;  and  if  Kate  wanted  to  be  such  a  fool  as  ta  fancy 
every  gentleman  who  came  to  see  "  the  ladies  "  was 
especially  her  adorer,  let  her  think  so ;  she  would,  per-gj^ 
haps,  find  out  the  difference  some  day.  ^^r^ 

"  I  believe,  as  I  am  dressed,  I  will  go  down,"  I 
said  at  last.     "  Kate  will  need  considerable  time  yet 


A   STOKY    OF    OUR    CFV^IL   WAR.  5 

to  make  herself  satisfactorily  bewitching ; "  and  after 
leisurely  lounging  out  of  the  room,  I  flew  down  the 
broad  staircase,  to  meet  him  whose  dear,  dark  eyes 
once  looking  into  mine,  had  so  flooded  my  soul  with 
love  and  faith  that  I  read,  fearless  in  my  own  truth,  in 
his  ever  after  quiet  gaze,  in  his  calm  words,  in  his  low- 
toned  voice,  unfathomable  depths  of  tenderness,  turn- 
ing silently  to  me,  as  the  broad  river  runs  noiselessly 
to  the  ocean. 

Years  have  passed  since  then  ;  grief,  anguish,  blood, 
and  death,  stand  between  that  day  and  this,  and 
still  I  see  myself,  in  the  spring-time  of  my  youth,  be- 
fore there  had  been  a  thorn  or  even  a  Avithered  flower 
in  my  pathw^ay,  or  a  cloud  in  my  sky — a  blooming 
girl,  whose  rosy  cheeks  and  clear,  dark  eyes  might 
for  a  moment  dim  the  purer  beauty  of  clear  cut  feat- 
ures, and  broad,  full  brow  :  a  creature  of  light,  grace, 
and  happiness,  flitting  past  the  frowning  pictures, 
dancing. down  the  dark  polished  stairs,  with  white 
jewelled  hands  gleaming  along  the  grim  caiwings! 
Did  angels  fold  their  wings  and  weep,  as  she  glided 
swiftly  through  their  ranks,  down  to  the  little  world 
that  was  all  the  world  to  her — the  world  of  Love  ? 

Gilbert  awaited  me  just  by  the  door,  leaning,  with 
the  unconscious  grace  of  a  strong  man,  against  my 
piano,  raising  his  head  slowly,  as  I  came  nearer,  and 
letting  the  light  come  up,  not  hastily,  to  his  dark^  col- 
orless cheek,  to  greet  me. 


6    '  AT  anchor: 

There  was  one  song  of  whicli  he  never  seemed  to 
grow  tired,  a  weird  kind  of  thing,  with  a  mystic  bur- 
den of  love  triumphant  only  in  death ;  a  song  little  in 
accordance  with  his  cool  temperament,  yet  Ms  favor- 
ite. I  rarely  waited  for  him  to  ask  me  to  sing  it,  but 
gave  it  unasked ;  now,  when  after  some  conversation 
in  the  twilight,  he  requested  it,  some  indefinable  im- 
pulse made  me  answer : 

"  Not  until  I  know  wherein  lies  its  charm." 

"  Beware  !     Curiosity  lost  Eve  her  paradise." 

"  Thus,  too,  may  I.  So  be  it,"  I  returned,  smiling, 
secure  in  my  paradise,  which  could  not  banish  me 
while  he  lived.  "  Tell  me,  have  your  two  mysteries 
any  connection  ?  Has  my  song  any  connection  with 
the  mysterious  miniature  you  guard  so  faithfully  ?  " 

For  once  I  had  seen  him,  in  looking  for  a  note, 
take  from  his  pocket  an  oval  velvet  case,  inside  of 
which  I  had  vainly  asked  to  look.  Making  the  re- 
mark, I  looked  fearlessly  up  to  his  quiet  eyes,  wonder- 
ing why  the  smiles  should  grow  deeper,  losing  them- 
selves in  sadness,  as  he  continued  to  gaze  upon  me. 

"  Must  it  be  so  ?  "  he  murmured,  more  of  himself 
than  of  me,  it  seemed.  And  then,  without  removing 
from  mine  his  eyes,  growing  deeper  and  more  tender 
still,  taking  one  of  my  hands  in  his,  he  placed  in  the 
other  the  velvet  case — open. 

It  contained  a  girl's  portrait.  A  fair,  young  face, 
fairer,  fainter  colored,  lighter  lined  than  mine ;  a  char- 


A    STOKY    OF    OFE    CIYIL   WAE.  7 

acterless  face,  with  delicate  features,  and  soft,  emotion- 
less blue  eyes ;  my  cousin  Kate's  face,  with  only  a 
shade  of  resemblance,  a  misty,  shadowy,  flitting  resem- 
blance. My  cousin  Kate's  face,  but  her  face  subdued, 
refined,  poetized,  idealized. 

She  must  love  him,  or  no  painter  could  ever  so 
have  painted  her. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  is  my^awcee,"  he  answered. 

Into  my  veins,  even  to  the  tips  of  the  fingers  rest- 
ing in  his,  ran  the  hot  iron  that  was  to  harden  in  my 
soul.  I  smiled,  said  "  How  you  surprise  me  !  "  thought 
the  face  "  lovely,"  and,  by  and  by,  went  up  stairs  again. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  down  ? "  I  asked  of  Kate. 
"  Mr.  Stuart  will  not  think  this  very  kind  treatment." 

Emma  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  "  I  should  not 
wonder  if  they  were  engaged,"  I  said  to  her,  as  soon 
as  Kate  had  rustled  her  heavy  silk  out  of  hearing. 
"  Suppose  you  and  Mary  entertain  uncle  Tom  in  the 
library  until  I  change  my  hair ;  it  is  so  tight,  it  hurts 
me." 

Afterward,  rising  from  my  knees  to  cool  my  head 
in  the  night  air,  before  joining  uncle  Tom,  I  saw  Gil- 
bert standing  in  the  garden  with  Kate,  tearing  the 
sweet  June  roses  from  my  bushes,  and,  when  tired  of 
playing  with  them,  tossing  them,  leaf  by  leaf,  into  the 
fountain. 

It  was  "  a  way  he  had." 


CHAPTER    n. 

My  uncle  Tom  was  an  old  bachelor,  who  had  lov- 
ed the  ladies  so  well  in  his  youth  that  he  could  never 
decide  on  one  to  bless  his  age,  to  the  exclusion  of  so 
many  others.  Not  but  that  my  uncle  was  young  yet, 
and,  thanks  to  his  whiskers,  which  were  astonishing, 
and  to  his  income,  which  was  equally  flourishing,  he 
was  still  in  good  demand. 

He  was  a  glorious  fellow ;  his  hand,  his  heart,  his 
house,  and  his  purse  were  as  open  as  the  generous  sun- 
shine, and  I,  his  nearest  relative,  a  sisterless,  brother- 
less  orphan,  seemed  to  be  the  one  point  on  which  he 
centred  all  the  afiections  of  his  ever  warm  heart. 

Love,  from  my  earliest  recollection,  had  been  my 
breath  of  life,  but  a  long  line  of  rock-moulded  ances- 
tors, fighting,  generation  after  generation,  with  all 
forms  and  shapes  of  care  and  wrong,  had  transmitted 
to  me,  the  last  of  their  line,  the  strength  of  soul  wrung 
from  the  accumulated  trials  and  triumphs  of  their 
struggling  lives. 

Like  them,  I  was  formed  of  the  rugged  New  Eng- 


A    STOKY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  9 

land  granite,  though  my  uncle's  delicate  chiselling, 
and  the  graceful  draping  of  steady  happiness,  made 
me  seem  as  if  moulded  from  less  enduring,  but 
more  polished  material.  I  do  not  know  that  uncle 
Tom  ever  suspected  the  real  under  the  seeming.  He 
caressed  me  like  a  baby,  he  dressed  me,  he  feted  me, 
as  if  I  had  been  born  only  to  be  borne  through  the 
world  in  a  jewelled  car,  over  a  pathway  of  roses.  He 
had  but  one  object  in  life,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
and  that  was  that  I  might  equal  my  "  glorious  moth- 
er." 

My  "glorious  mother,"  who,  as  Mrs.  Glynn  had 
so  imprudently  told  me,  died  in  the  dark  and  cold, 
on  the  open  field,  not  half  a  mile  from  her  husband's 
door ! 

Our  house  in  summer  had  always  some  visitors ; 
on  the  summer  of  which  I  have  spoken  it  was  full  to 
its  utmost  limits,  our  party  having  been  augmented  on 
the  day  before  the  opening  of  my  story,  by  the  arrival 
of  my  only  fashionable  relative,  my  aunt  Graham,  her 
daughter  Florence,  lady's  maid,  and  countless  trunks ; 
my  cousin  Hal,  "  Lady  Louise,"  his  fast  mare,  his  sad- 
dle, buggy,  gun,  and  fishing-tackle;  and  my  uncle 
Graham,  who,  however,  had  only  taken  a  run  down  to 
see  his  wife  and  train  safely  landed  at  her  brother's. 

My  aunt  Graham  was  the  only  woman  whom  I  was 
forced  to  regard  as  so  immensely  my  superior  that 
during  her  visits  I  always  looked  upon  myself  as  the 
1* 


10  AT  anchor: 

plainest,  dowdiest,  stupidest  mortal  in  existence.  She 
denounced  my  grandest  dresses  as  "  frights,"  and  my 
way  of  wearing  my  hair  she  regarded  as  "  too  shock- 
ing for  any  thing." 

Her  whole  soul  was  bent  on  marrying  off  Florence, 
who  was  now  in  her  eighteenth  year,  and,  despite  her 
really  good  face  and  slender  figure,  was  w;zengaged. 
My  duties  as  a  well-behaved  relative  and  polite  host- 
ess required,  in  my  aunt  Graham's  eyes,  that  I  should 
introduce  all  the  eligible  young  men  of  our  acquaint- 
ance to  Florence,  retiring  immediately  afterward  to 
the  background. 

Before  my  aunt  Graham  came,  she  had  written 
to  Kate — she  would  not  have  dared  do  so  to  either 
my  uncle  Tom  or  me — to  know  who  were  at  "the 
house,"  and  before  she  had  been  two  hours  in  the  par- 
lor I  saw  that  she  had  selected  the  victim  whose  sac- 
rifice was  to  be  the  result  of  the  summer's  campaign. 

And  in  her  selection  I  must  say  my  aunt  Graham 
showed  the  taste  and  high  ambition  which,  she  often 
assured  me,  were  indispensable  to  a  really  fashionable 
lady's  "  making-up."  Carlton  Aberthnay,  on  whom  fell 
her  choice,  Avas  one  of  our  most  admired  friends.  He 
was  a  South  Carolinian  by  birth,  and  more,  a  real  Caroli- 
nian, one  of  the  almost  mythical  First  Families  of  the 
South,  Avith  just  enough  of  Kew  England  training  to 
steady  the  Southern  impetuosity  with  which  he  was 
lavishly  endowed.    Generous  and  impulsive,  brave  and 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVEL   WAR.  '  11 

courteous,  high-toned  and  chivalric,  there  Avas  no  door 
or  heart  that  could  be  long  closed  to  him. 

Had  Kate  said  nothing  of  his  well-stocked  planta- 
tions, of  his  almost  unlimited  expectations,  my  aunt 
Graham  would  have  read  the  consciousness  of  wealth 
and  position  in  the  unassuming  ease  and  graceful  mod- 
esty which,  to  less  experienced  eyes  than  those  of  the 
sharp  woman  of  the  world  with  a  daughter  to  settle, 
would  have  been  the  last  sign  looked  for. 

I  cannot  say  that  the  light  I  saw  in  Gilbert  Stu- 
art's eyes  had  blinded  me  to  all  the  good  in  other  men, 
so  that  they  passed  dimly  before  me,  darkly  as  in  a 
glass,  but  I  do  know  that  as  we  all  met  in  the  parlor, 
a  day  or  two  after  that  scene  with  Gilbert,  and  one 
woman-glance  of  mine  shut  out  that  light,  other  men 
came  out  from  the  background  and  shone  in  more  dis- 
tinct colors.  And  it  was  then,  I  think,  that  as  Carlton 
Aberthnay  stood  by  Florence's  chair,  guiding  her 
through  the  intricacies  of  a  Chinese  puzzle,  that  I  saw 
in  his  countenance  something  I  had  never  seen  in  any 
other's,  not  even  in  Gilbert's ; — certainly  not,  in  Gil- 
bert's. 

I  can  scarcely  tell  you  what  it  was,  it  was  so  spir- 
itual, so  aspiring,  so  pure,  so  real,  yet  so  fervid.  Some- 
thing that  made  me  blush  for  the  material,  earthly 
kind  of  existence  that  I  led — I,  a  woman,  who  ought 
to  walk  in  heaven's  ways,  leading  men  with  me,  not 
to  stand  afar  off  wondering  at  it  in  another's.     The 


12  AT   AisCHOR: 

same  look,  T\'ith  less  of  determination,  more  of  tender 
humility,  equally  pure,  but  more  spii'itual  still,  was  al- 
ways shining  out  of  oMary  Allen's  sweet  hazel  eyes. 
While  I  watched  fhat  light  in  Carlton  Aberthnay's 
face,  my  cousin  Hal  had  evidently  seen  the  same  in 
Mary's,  for  I  saw  him  sitting  by  her,  with  more  of  in- 
terest and  refinement  in  his  appearance  than  had  ever 
been  won  from  him  by  the  brightest  "belle  of  the 
ball." 

"  I  can  never  do  it,"  at  last  sighed  Florence,  look- 
ing pitifully  up  to  Mr.  Aberthnay. 

"  Really  ?  why,  ]Miss  Georgie  did  it  at  once.  She 
can  explain  it  better  than  I ; "  and  he  turned  to  me, 
much  to  Florence's  disgust ;  she,  however,  maintained 
a  show  of  interest  while  I  coldly  and  rapidly  explain- 
ed. 

To  get  her  away  fi'om  me,  ]\Irs.  Graham  called  her 
to  the  piano,  but  Mr.  Aberthnay  did  not  follow ;  he 
sat  with  me  by  the  low  French  window,  looking  out 
on  the  river. 

He  talked  well,  better  than  usual,  for  Florence  had 
rested  his  intellect,  and  it  was  ready  for  a  fresh  start. 

His  manner  had  always  suited  me  as  a  relief  irom. 
the  cold,  unenthusiastic,  undemonstrative  ways  of  the 
North ;  and,  now  that  I  was  becoming  hardened  from 
the  joyous-hearted,  imjDulsive  girl,  to  the  stately,  sar- 
castic woman,  it  did  me  good  to  mark  the  flow  of  his 
impetuous  nature.     It  amused  me,  leaning  back  in  my 


A   STOEY    OF    Om   CIVIL   WAK.  13 

chair,  refusing  to  lose  myself  in  poetry  or  romance,  to 
hear  him,  excited  to  the  utmost,  paint  for  me  his 
dreams  of  the  future.  His  especial  ambition  was  mili- 
tary renown ;  the  pomp  of  battle  was  to  him  earth's 
grandest  romance.  "  I  shall  wait,"  he  would  often  tell 
me,  "  until  some  oppressed  nation,  with  whose  princi- 
ples I  can  fully  sympathize,  rises  against  the  oppress- 
or, and  join  them,  as  Lafayette  did  the  Colonists,  as — " 
"  Byron  the  Greeks,"  I  once  interrupted  him.  "  ^o, 
no.  Earth  has  many  ways  to  fame,  and  honor  should 
be  every  man's  aim  ;  but  war  is  butchery,  slaughter, 
adorn  it  as  you  will." 

But  I  never  moved  him;  and  was  nearer  being 
converted  myself,  for,  after  all,  what  man  or  woman 
is  great  and  good  enough  to  be  deaf  to  the  fife  and 
drum,  or  blmd  when  "Horses  prance  and  lances 
gleam "  ?  I  found  refuge  in  the  magnetism  of  his 
cheerful  nature  from  my  own  thoughts.  So  I  bore, 
listening  to  him,  without  a  word  of  complaint,  the 
dull,  hard  pain  that  was  gnawing  all  the  sweetness 
and  blessedness  out  of  my  life.  I  meant  to  be  true 
and  just  to  Carlton  Aberthnay,  that  he  might  never 
suffer,  if  indeed  men  ever  do  suffer,  as  I  was  suffering 
then.  I  knew  that  his  ever  comleous  manner  had  a 
shade  of  reverence  in  it  for  me  that  it  had  for  no 
other ;  mine  to  him  was  ever  frank  and  cordial.  Be- 
yond that  I  meant  that  neither  should  go.  I  was  tired 
of  love,  tired  of  hearing  of  it,  tired  of  readmg  of  it, 


14  AT   ANCHOR  : 

tired  of  living  for  it,  and  I  meant  there  should  be  none 
of  it  between  Carlton  Aberthnay  and  me. 

Indeed  Florence  was  determined  on  the  same  point, 
and  so  contrived  it  that  Carlton  would  have  been 
more  or  less  than  man,  could  he  have  had  a  whole 
heart  to  offer  any  other  than  herself. 

My  cousin  Hal,  who,  weak  as  he  was,  was  beyond 
his  excellent  mother's  control,  had  "paii-ed  off"  with 
Mary  since  the  first  evening  of  theii*  meeting.  Kate 
and  Gilbert  were  almost  equally  exclusive,  or  I  fan- 
cied so ;  Emma,  Uncle  Tom,  Aunt  Graham,  Mr.  Ab- 
erthnay, and  myself  were  left  to  be  as  entertaining  to 
each  other  as  possible  under  the  circumstances.  Gil- 
bert Stuart  came  and  went  very  much  as  of  old,  and 
among  so  many  affaires  du  cceur^  my  little  trouble 
passed  unnoticed.  How  weak  I  must  seem  when  I  con- 
fess that  my  heart  still  ached  for  Gilbert.  If  by  so 
doing  I  could  have  preserved  his  present  esteem,  and 
the  hope  that  even  yet  was  not  dead,  I  would  have 
considered  it  happiness  to  follow  him  around  the  world 
as  the  meekest  of  servants,  living  years  on  a  smile, 
braving  death  for  a  loving  look.  Only  that  I  knew 
he  would  despise  me  for  it,  how  I  would  have  knelt 
and  begged  for  his  love  ! 

But  well  for  me  the  delicate  face,  Kate's  idealized 
face,  was  always  before  me,  standmg,  like  the  Angel 
with  the  drawn  sword,  between  me  and  paradise.  And 
Kate  herself— !     Sometimes  I  almost  pitied  her  in  her 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  15 

falDt  prettiness,  as  my  uncle's  rich-set  mirrors  flashed 
back  my  royally-cut  features  and  my  deep  autumnal 
coloring.  I  asked  Kate  nothing.  I  asked  myself  noth- 
ing. I  never  analyzed  my  feelings,  only,  when  sev- 
ered from  the  being  in  which  my  own  had  been  so 
long  absorbed,  and  the  responsibility  of  my  own  life 
and  happiness  came  back  to  me,  only  then  I  longed  to 
throw  myself  into  his  arms,  hide  my  head  on  his  heart, 
and  pray  him  to  take  me  back  to  the  love  which  I  still 
believed  had  been,  still  was  mine. 

"Was  that  my  greatest  folly  ? 

"Well,  at  least  I  kept  it  to  myself  I  went  through 
the  almost  daily  agony  of  meeting  and  parting,  with 
a  self-possession  that  astonishes  me  now,  and  must 
have  completely  blinded  him. 

During  the  earlier  summer  months  Gilbert  had  oft- 
en been  my  escort,  on  Sundays,  to  church  at  the  con- 
vent where  Mary  Allen  was  then  at  school.  Her  va- 
cation had  commenced  during  the  week,  but  on  the 
first  Sunday  after  the  strange  conversation  with  Gil- 
bert, I  proposed  going  to  church  there,  as  usual  for  af- 
ternoon service. 

"  Who  are  for  the  convent  ?  "  I  asked,  with  less  in- 
difference to  the  answer  than  became  a  polite  and  im- 
partial hostess.     "  Now,  don't  all  speak  at  once !  " 

"  I  am  at  your  service  as  usual,"  answered  Mr. 
Stuart,  looking  steadily  at  me. 

"As  I  did  not  want  to  speak  all  at  once,"  Mr, 


16  AT  anchor: 

Aberthnay  said,  before  I  had  replied  to  Gilbert,  "  I 
have  lost  the  opportunity  of  putting  myself  in  the 
Tvay  of  getting  an  inside  view  of  that  mysterious  build- 
ing.    Do  pity  me,  kind  Miss  Vane." 

"I  do,"  I  said;  "but  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  go  to-day,  the  larger  the  party  the  bet- 
ter." 

"I  am  restored  to  happiness,"  Mr.  Aberthnay 
said,  smilingly,  and  began  an  argument  with  Kate  on 
religious  life,  which  was  conducted  with  great  spirit 
on  both  sides,  for  Carl's  religion  was  a  quiet  part  of 
him,  and  Kate  was  the  most  rigid  of  Presbyterians. 

"  Stop  arguing,"  I  had  to  say,  at  last,  "  and  let  us 
decide  how  we  shall  go." 

"  Miss  Mary  is  going  with  me  in  my  buggy,"  Hal 
answered,  promptly;  "I  will  show  her  a  horse  as  is  a 
horse." 

"  You  will  very  likely  see  too  much  of  that  horse, 
Mary,"  I  said.  "If  you  have  any  regard  for  your 
friends,  go  vdih  me  in  sober  style." 

"  Mr.  Graham  says  Lady  Louise  is  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb  under  his  guidance,"  Mary  answered.  "I  am 
not  afraid,  and  I  like  to  drive  fast." 

"  Yery  good  beginning  for  a  novice,"  I  thought, 
but  decided  not  to  interfere.  When  this  important 
matter  was  settled,  it  was  j^roposed  that  the  two  gen- 
tlemen and  I  should  walk,  and  then  began  some  little 
ceremonious  politeness   between    Messrs.  Aberthnay 


A   STOET   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  lY 

and  Stuart,  which  showed  each  wished  the  other  a 
thousand  miles  away. 

Finally,  Mr.  Aberthenay  came  privately  to  me  and 
gave  me  to  understand  that  some  other  day  we  could 
go,  but  that  as  I  had  generally  gone  with  Mr.  Stuart, 
and  so  on.  He  should  not  enjoy  a  pleasure  at  the  risk 
of  interferinor  with  Mr.  Stuart's  rio^hts. 

"  Rights !  "  I  echoed ;  "  this  is  the  first  I  have  heard 
of  Mr.  Stuart's  rights ! " 

"  How  shall  I  express  my  meaning,  then  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  your  meaning,  nor  care.  I  have 
known  Mr.  Stuart  ever  since  I  can  remember,  but  if  I 
had  known  him  a  thousand  years  I  should  not  consid- 
er he  had  any  right  to  my  society." 

"  On  that  account,  no." 

"Not  on  any  account.  He  visits  here  as  uncle 
Tom's  friend,  and,  some  people  think,  it  is  just  possible 
my  cousin — " 

I  felt  ashamed  of  having  said  so  much.  Mr.  Ab- 
erthnay  saw  that  I  did,  and  very  quietly  said  : 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  annoying  you ;  I  beg  you  will 
forgive  me." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  Come,  now,  it  is 
time  for  us  to  make  ourselves  ready  for  church.  After 
vespers  very  likely  they  will  show  you  around  that 
mysterious  building." 

Our  arrangements  ended  without  including  Mr. 
Stuart,  who  chose  to  find  excuse  for  withdrawing  for 


18  AT  anchor: 

reasons  of  his  own,  perhaps  because  Kate,  who  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  put  her  foot  inside  a  convent, 
came  down,  looking  quite  as  j^retty  as  usual,  just  as 
we  were  talking. 

I  have  always  thought  if  I  should  wake  up  after 
days  of  sleejD  or  unconsciousness  on  a  Sunday,  that  I 
should  know  the  day  by  the  very  freshness  and  still- 
ness of  the  ail*.  A  sweeter  Sunday  there  could  not 
be  than  that  one  on  which  Mr.  Aberthnay  and  I  took 
our  first  walk  together ;  and  took  that  walk  over  the 
very  ground  where  Gilbert  Stuart  and  I  had  wander- 
ed a  hundred  times,  in  the  easy  joyousness  of  the 
bright  years  of  my  life.  [ISTothing,  not  even  that  reve- 
lation of  his,  had  seemed  to  show  so  clearly  our 
broken  trust,  as  that  I  walked  there  with  another 
man  at  my  side. 

How  different  it  was  !  Yet  my  present  companion 
was  one  any  woman  could  be  proud  to  be  with,  and 
against  whose  cheerful  society  and  gentle  deference  few 
hearts  could  find  it  in  them  to  rebel.  No  more  refer- 
ence was  made  to  3Ii\  Stuart ;  and  Mr.  Aberthnay  had 
never  been  more  interesting. 

"  This  is  really  a  charming  town,"  he  said  to  me 
in  the  interval  of  graver  conversation.  "  I  keep  liking- 
it  more  the  more  I  see  of  it.  I  remember  your 
speaking  of  it  to  me  the  summer  I  met  you  at  West 
Point,  and  my  thinking  to  myself  that  I  had  seen  all 
New  England  when  I  saw  M and  G ,  for  it  is 


A   STOEY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  19 

the  usual  remark  that  every  New  England  village  is 
a  fac-simile  of  every  other.  I  did  not  think  then  that 
my  fate  would  ever  station  me  so  near  to  it,  any  more 
than  I  imao-ined  that  I  should  ever  have  couraore  to 
speak  a  dozen  consecutive  sentences  to  the  *Miss 
Yane,'  who  was  so  fair  and  stately,  that  we  cadets 
trembled  at  our  own  audacity  in  asking  her  to  dance." 

"  And  Miss  Vane,  I  assure  you,  looked  upon  each 
particular  cadet  as  a  mountain  of  wisdom,  wit,  and 
majesty.     So  our  illusions  leave  us  at  every  step." 

"  Some  we  say  good-bye  to  with  all  our  hearts," 
he  answered ;  "  some  we  would  rather  die  than  lose. 
I  have  lost  one  to-day ;  I  trust  it  will  not  come  back." 

"  Oh  ?  "  I  said,  but  I  did  not  ask  him  what  it  was. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  terribly  selfish  in  me  to  be  glad." 

It  struck  me  just  then  that  he  meant  something  in 
regard  to  Mr.  Stuart  and  me.  We  had  been  quite 
often  spoken  of  as  engaged,  and,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Aberth- 
nay  had  had  information  to  that  effect.  I  thought  I 
had  undeceived  him,  however,  for  the  future. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  sweet  little  gu-l  serious- 
ly intends  becoming  a  nun  ? "  Mr.  Aberthnay  asked 
me,  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  Hal  and  Mary  dashed 
by  us  at  a  rate  not  at  all  in  vogue  among  'New  Eng- 
landers  on  Sunday,  and  no  more  in  accordance  with 
my  own  views  of  proper  respect  to  the  day.  Mary,  I 
knew,  would  never  venture  to  express  any  objection  to 
Hal,  up  to  whom  she  looked  with  great  respect  and 


20  .  AT  anchoe: 

perfect  ignorance  of  any  fault  possible  in  him.  Her 
little  mind  had  never  been  exercised  in  separating  the 
true  from  the  false,  the  real  from  the  seeming;  certain 
things  were  articles  of  faith  with  her ;  certain  other 
things  she  regarded  and  shunned  with  holy  horror, 
just  as  she  had  been  taught. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  she  does  intend  to  become  a  nun." 

"Miss  Mary  seems  just  made  for  a  nun,"  Mr. 
Aberthnay  remarked.  "She  is  just  our  ideal  nun; 
tender  and  sweet,  simple  and  meek;  she  might  have 
sat  for  Tennyson's  St.  Agnes." 

"  Surely  if  there  is  any  truth  in  a  vocation,  Mary 
has  it,"  I  said ;  "  she  knows  of  no  world  outside  the 
convent,  and  I  do  not  think  she  will  outgrow  her  pres- 
ent ignorance ;  it  is  to  be  hoped  for  her  own  peace 
of  mind  that  she  will  not.  But  here  we  'are  at  the 
convent." 

We  found  Mary  kissing  nuns  and  gii-ls  indiscrimi- 
nately. I  myself  could  not  deny  that  there  was  a 
certain  pleasant  charm  around  the  pale-faced  sisterhood 
who  had  dragged  me  through  the  "  elements  "  of  Eng- 
lish, French,  German,  It'alian,  music,  and  drawing, 
not  to  mention  embroidery.  The  parlors  were  crowd- 
ed with  girls  and  their  visitors,  my  heart  ached  for 
the  poor  lonely  ones  who  had  none,  and  leaving  the 
parlor  I  found  my  way  to  the  long  class-room,  and  for 
the  sake  of  old  times  tried  to  endure  the  confusion 
that  was  the  natural  consequence  of  a  hundred  and 


A   STORY    OF    OUK    CIVIL   WAE.        .  21 

fifty  girls  all  talkiog  at  once.  "  I  did  not  go  crazy 
then^''  I  thought,  remembering  my  school  days.  "  Noth- 
ing will  drive  me  crazy  now." 

A  few  words  here  and  there,  a  glance  at  my  old 
desk,  and  a  glance  through  the  window  by  which  I 
had  lived  so  many  feverish  lives,  and  my  mission  there 
was  ended.  Just  as  I  left,  the  bell  rang  for  afternoon 
service,  and  the  tumult  Avas  in  a  measure  hushed; 
white  veils  fluttered  from  all  parts  of  the  room,  while 
I  hastened  to  join  my  cousin  and  Mr.  Aberthnay  in 
the  parlor.  Mary  was  taking  her  old  place  among 
the  girls. 

The  beautiful  chapel  was  still  as  death  as  we  en- 
tered, nor  did  the  long  procession  of  white- veiled  girls 
much  disturb  its  silence^  Here  every  thing  was  saint- 
ly, calm,  and  sweet.  My  lost  girlhood,  my  proud,  am- 
bitious girlhood,  with  its  wild  aspirations,  its  grand 
imaginings,  its  royal  hopes,  rose  up  before  me,  until  I 
cowered  before  the  memory.  And  while  the  nuns' 
sweet  voices  blended  with  those  of  the  girls,  had  all 
the  world  been  there  I  could  not  have  repressed  the 
tears  that  seemed  wrung  out  of  my  very  heart.  I  had 
been  wishing  for  them  ever  since  that  night.  I  felt 
better  when  they  came. 

"  Only  a  few  weeks  more,"  Mary  whispered,  as  she 
bade  the  nuns  farewell.  "  Only  a  few  weeks  more 
and  I  shall  be  always  with  you;  but  it  is  a  long  time 
to  wait." 


22  AT  anchor: 

"  Patience,  my  child,"  one  answered.  ''  Our  Lord 
will  rej^ay  you  tenfold  for  waiting.  It  is  better  you 
should  see  the  world,  and  know  it,  so  that  if  you 
should  be  ever  tempted  to  wish  for  its  vanities,  you 
may  remember  what  they  are  worth.  Go,  dear ;  God 
in  heaven  bless  you,  and  his  holy  Mother  protect  you 
from  all  the  snares  of  the  wicked." 

I  fancied,  as  the  nun  said  this,  that  she  had  had  at 
least  a  glimpse  of  Hal's  well-trimmed  whiskers. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  sincere,"  Mr.  Aberthnay  said, 
as  we  left  the  convent.  "  They  live  on  another  plane 
.than  ours,  speaking  after  the  manner  of  the  *  sphitual- 
ists.'    I  believe  they  mean  all  they  say." 

"  Indeed  they  do,"  I  exclaimed.  "  'Ko  one  could 
live  so  except  sustained  by  the  faith  that  God  wills  it. 
Who  can  tell — do  they  become  mere  machines,  mere 
creatures  of  habit,  after  a  time,  or  is  their  self  abnega- 
tion a  perpetually  offered  sacrifice  ?  As  we  have  seen 
them,  how  near  to  heaven  they  seem !  And  oh  !  who 
would  not  throw  down  life's  burdens  to  possess  the  re- 
pose we  saw  there  ?  " 

"  ]^ot  I,  for  one  !  "  cried  'Mr.  Aberthnay ;  "  I  thank 
God  that  life  has  burdens.  Repose  is  not  for  me ;  no, 
nor  for  you  either.  Miss  Yane.  I  thank  heaven  for 
the  energy  and  the  activity  that  scorns  rest." 

"  You  are  wrong  there,  the  greater  the  activity 
the  sweeter  the  repose.  Who  sleeps  best,  the  hard- 
worked  laborer,  or  the  listless,  languid  *  child  of  fash- 


A   STOEY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  23 

ion '  ?  If  any  graybeards  were  here  they  would  laugh 
at  us  for  thinking,  at  our  age,  of  rest,  either  to  scorn 
or  to  woo  it.  Yet  what  right  have  they  ?  The  heart 
hnoweth  its  oion  Mtterness.^^ 

"  I  want  a  regular  pow-wow  with  you  to  night," 
said  Hal  to  me  on  the  way  to  tea. 

"  What  is  a  pow-wow,"  I  said  to  Hal. 

"  A  pow-wow,"  he  answered,  "  is  a  thundering  big 
talk.     A  consultation  like." 

"  Oh !  "  I  said,  and  promised.  As  soon  as  I  had 
opportunity  I  led  the  way  to  my  own  special  sanctum, 
in  which  foot  of  man  had  never  entered. 

"Well,  Hal,"  I  said,  as  he  sat  down. 

"  But,  Georgie,  do  go  somewhere  else ;  I  want  to 
smoke.     I  never  can  get  it  out  if  I  don't  smoke." 

I  looked  at  my  snowy  curtains,  my  spotless  carpet, 
my  neat  books,  my  delicate  flowers,  my  pictures,  and 
my  hundred  little  "  femininities,"  and  wondered  how 
it  would  seem. 

"  Harry,"  I  said,  "  you  may  smoke." 

"  Georgie,  you're  bully,"  Hal  said,  looking  for  a 
match,  "  a  regular  P.  B. ; "  and  having  lighted  his 
cigar,  he  put  his  boots  a  little  above  his  head,  break- 
ing only  a  vase  and  an  ornamental  tea  cup  in  the  op- 
eration. I  have  noticed  that  when  men  open  their 
mouths  to  smoke,  their  feet,  as  a  seemingly  natural 
consequence,  seem  to  go  up  to  the  highest  resting-place 
at  hand.     I  have  never  been  able  to  explain  the  phe- 


24  AT  anchor: 

nomenon.  "I  tell  you  why,"  Hany  went  on,  "there 
isn't  any  humbug  about  you.  I  tell  you  there  ain't 
any  thing  like  a  woman  with  a  heart,  who's  got  enough 
natural  fire  not  to  be  put  out  by  a  little  smoke.  You 
know  very  Avell  if  you  weren't  my  .cousin — I  would, 
I'll  be  dashed  if  I  wouldn't.  Nice  little  girl  this  Mary 
Allen— eh  ?  " 

"Very." 

"Dashed  pretty  eyes — have  you  noticed?" 
'"Yes— rather." 

"  Georgie  " — this  very  solemnly — "  I  always  was  a 
good-hearted  fellow — wasn't  I,  Georgie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Hal ;  I'll  answer  to  that." 

"  That's  you  !  Coz  you're  a  team.  You  always 
know  what  to  say  to  a  fellow,  and  get  him  off  when 
he's  stumped.  That's  the  sort  of  woman  for  me.  Now, 
just  as  sure  as  my  name's  Hal  Graham,  I  will  do  it ; 
I  will,  I  tell  you ;  and  when  Hal  Graham  says  he  will, 
he  will.  I  will  do  it.  I'll  do  it  if  it  kills  me.  If  the 
landlady  kicks  up  a  muss,  or  the  governor  refuses  to 
come  down  like  a  P.  B.,  I'll  do  it  in  spite  of  them ! 
I'll  sell  my  gun,  I'll  give  up  Lady  Louise,  I'll  give  up 
the  club,  I'll  stop  smoking — I  mean  I  won't  smoke  so 
much — and  I'll  do  it,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Decidedly ! " 

"  She's  just  perfect,  just  as  pious  as  any  angel ;  will 
get  me  to  heaven,  sure.  I'll  do  it — but  how  ?  There's 
the  rub." 


A    STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   TTAE.  25 

"  Oh,  that's  easy. 

"  The  dickens  it  is  !     Did  you  ever  try  it  ?  " 

"  JS'o,  Hal,  I  confess  I  never  did." 

"  That's  the  plague  of  it ;  hoio  to  do  it  ?  I  have 
asked  her  out  to  drive  to-morrow,  and  I'll  ask  her 
then.     What  shall  I  say?" 

"  Let  that  depend  upon  the  way  things  come  around. 
Just  as  if  an  old  flirt  like  you  would  have  any  trouble  ! " 

"But  this  is  difterent.  I  positively  believe  I'm 
regularly  in  this  time.  I  should  feel  confoundedly 
bad  if  she  shouldn't  see  it  as  I  do." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  give  her  more  time." 

"  Nary.  I  must  knov/  at  once.  Bless  my  soul  I 
should  be  dead  in  love  with  her  in  a  week.  You 
wouldn't  have  me  in  love  with  a  girl  until  I  was  sure 
she  liked  me,  would  you  ?  " 

"  How  can  she  help  liking  you,  Hal  ?  " 

Hal  stroked  his  whiskers.  "  I'll  tell  you  to-mor- 
row," he  said.  "  I  know  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me, 
so  good  night— but  I  vow  I'll  do  it.  I'll  sacrifice 
myself     I  say,  won't  she  look  first-rate  wh^  she  is 

Mrs.  G ,  with  a  nice  morning  costume  on,  and  a 

white  table  cloth  between  us  ?  A  fellow  could  afltbrd 
to  reform  for  such  a  pair  of  eyes,  I  tell  you.  Good 
night.  I  don't — suppose — she  will  stick  to  the  convent 
idea,  will  she  ?  " 

"  Xot  if  you  can  contrive  to  get  her  in  love  with 
matrimony." 
2 


26  AT  anchok: 

"  Somehow  it  does  not  come  natural  to  talk  that 
sort  of  thing  to  her.  But  to-morrow  must  decide. 
Adieu.     I'll  do  it,  you  may  swear  to  that.     Bon  soir." 

Hal  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  plumply  pro- 
posed to  her  at  the  end  of  their  drive,  and  was,  of 
course,  decidedly  refused.  But  Mary  was  a  perfect 
novice  in  the  affairs  of  the  heart ;  and  when  Hal  told 
her  that  he  had  an  income  large  enough  for  two  to 
live  on,  with  a  little  economy  and  some  help  from  the 
Governor,  and  that  rather  than  see  her  immured  in  a 
convent  he  would  sacrifice  himself  on  the  altar  of 
matrimony,  Mary  thought  pretty  much  as  her  hopeful 
lover  did  himself,  that  he  was  the  most  generous  of 
men,  and  assured  him,  without  the  least  embarrassment 
or  flutter,  that  she  never  meant  to  marry,  that  she  was 
going  to  be  a  nun,  that  her  "  vocation  "  was  decidedly 
to  a  religious  life,  in  which  she  would  always  pray  for 
him  for  being  so  good  as  to  be  willing  to  sell  his  house 
and  stop  smoking  for  her,  when  she  had  never  done 
any  thing  for  him ;  and  then  she  talked  so  beautifully 
about  the  sanctity  of  single-blessedness  and  convent 
shades,  and  dwelt  so  tenderly  on  the  sinless  life  of 
.  prayer  and  meditation  before  her,  that  Hal  was,  at  the 
end,  almost  ready  to  emulate  the  knight  of  old,  who 
built  a  hermit's  cell  under  the  windows  of  the  convent 
in  which  his  lady  love  had,  in  a  moment  of  despair, 
vowed  to  live  her  earthly  life. 

*'  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  to-day,"  Hal  confidentially 


A    STOfiY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  27 

informed  me,  "  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  to-day  near  so 
much  like  a  sacrifice  as  it  did  yesterday.  I  believe 
now  I  could  stand  seeing  her  face  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  day  after  day,  year  in  and  year  out,  and  I'd 
almost  like,  'pon  honor  I  would,  to  see  her  fooling 
with  a  big-headed  baby  in  long  dresses.  Hang  it  I  I 
am  not  the  first  man  that's  said  I'd  never  marry,  and 
then  went  and  did  it,  am  I  Georgie  ?  And  I've  held 
out  longer  than  a  great  many  others.  I  couldn't  tell 
you  half  of  the  right  down  pretty  girls  that  I  have 
disappointed.  I  wish  you'd  tell  Mary  about  that 
smashing  French  widow ;  you  saw  all  that  yourself  at 
the  Springs,  and  you  know  I  never  encouraged  her  at 
all.  Then  there  was  Lottie  Jane,  with  a  big  fortune 
in  her  own  right,  and  expectations  ditto,  I  might  have 
had  either  of  them  as  easy  as  winking  ;  supposing  you 
tell  Mary  so.  I  don't  think  she  appreciates  what  she's 
throwing  away." 

"  Leave  it  to  me  to  teach  her ;  don't  say  any  thing 
yourself  about  other  ladies  to  her.  I'll  do  what  I  can 
for  you,  Hal ;  but,  after  all,  how  can  I  be  sure  that 
you  will  be  in  the  same  mind  a  year  from  now  ?  I 
should  not  be  overmuch  pleased  after  winning  her  for 
you,  to  find  you  were  running  off  on  some  other  track." 

"  I  vow,  cousin,  I'm  in  earnest  this  time,  and  I'll 
stick  to  what  I  say,  if  I  die  for  it.     Oh,  dear !  " 

"  Will  you  help  me,  Hal  ?  will  you  work  with  all 
your  might  and  main  for  her  ?  " 


28  AT   ANCHOR  I 

"  You  may  bet  your  money  on  that." 

"  Then  Hal  begin ;  when  Mary  comes  down  stairs 
she  must  find  you  in  a  state  of  melancholy,  from  which 
you  must  make  spasmodic  efforts  to  arouse  yourself; 
you  must  be  rather  distant  to  her — " 

"  And  flii-t  with  Emma  Lewis  ?  " 

"Xo — no — that  would  never  do;  Mary's  kind 
heart  -^  ould  suffer  nothing  if  she  saw  you  seemingly 
contented  with  anybody  else." 

"  How  can  I  ever  do  the  melancholy  ?  " 

"  You  do  feel  badly,  don't  you,  Hal  ?  You  do  think 
it  a  thousand  pities  that  a  pretty  girl,  with  the  sweet- 
est eyes  in  the  world,  should  go  and  bury  herself  in  a 
convent  just  when  a  handsome  fellow  like  my  cousin 
Hal  is  all  ready  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  do,  and  I  told  her  so ;  or  some- 
thing like  it." 

"  Didn't  she  melt  at  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  in  the  least ;  she  threw  the  Bible  at 
my  head  ;  that  is,  she  quoted  Mary  and  Martha ;  that 
dished  me  at  once.  She  said  marriage  was  good  for 
some —  " 

"  Oh,  she  did  ?  Very  condescending  on  her  part 
I  must  confess." 

"  I  don't  think  you'll  be  a  nun— eh  Coz  ?  " 

"I  don't  thinklshaU." 

"I  wish  you'd  coax  Mary  to  think  like  you. 
Now,  you  know,  I  don't  claim  to   be   a   saint  my- 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  29 

self,  and  I  must  say  it  don't  seem  just  the  thing. 
I  a'nt  sentimental,  but  'pon  my  honor  I  do  think  a 
nice  little  wife  is  about  as  good  a  passport  to  paradise 
as  a  man  can  have.  Jack  and  I  used  to  say  that,  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  expense,  matrimony  was  the  best  school 
of  reform ;  and  sometimes,  when  we've  been  to  see 
some  of  the  fellows  that  have  gone  into  that  blessed 
state,  I'll  be  hanged  if  we  haven't  felt  like  dashing  the 
expense.  I  can't  talk  much,  but  you  know  what  I 
mean,  and  that's  more  than  I  can  say  for  most  women. 
If  I'd  had  a  sister  like  you,  I  believe  I'd  been  some- 
thing, I  do  positively.  Xow,  if  I  could  tall^  like  you, 
cousin  Georgie,  I  know  I  could  bring  Mary  to  my 
way  of  thinking  ;  but  I  can't,  and  there  it  is." 

"'Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,'  Hal.  I'd 
rather  Mary  would  marry  the  greatest  goose  in  the 
world  than  go  into  a  convent,  so  you  may  be  sure  I 
will  help  you." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"TVhat  a  bore  this  world  is,"  half  yawned,  half 
growled  Hal,  as  the  end  of  the  week  satisfied  him  that 
his  '  sacrifice '  was  not  to  be  accepted.  "  What  a  bore 
this  world  is,  especially  the  part  they  call  the  country." 

"  Which  seems  to  be  the  unanimous  opinion  of  the 
company,"  Kate  said,  after  a  pause  which  brought  no 
contradiction  to  Hal's  assertion.  "  What  is  the  matter 
with  everybody  ?  Mr.  Stuart,  you  look  as  blue  as  a 
church  mouse,  what  ails  you  ?  " 

"Xothing,  I  assure  you;  I  was  never  in  better 
spirits  in  my  life." 

"  And  Georgie  never  in  worse ;  what  dose  it  all 
mean  ?  Is  it  because  Mr.  Aberthnay  is  going  away 
to-morrow  ?  " 

I  don't  know  which  said  "no,"  with  the  least 
truth,  Gilbert  or  I. 

"'A  penny  for  your  thoughts,'  ]Mr.  Aberthnay," 
Kate  continued ;  "  speak  your  mind  and  receive  your 
reward,"  and  she  displayed  a  shining  "one  cent" 
piece. 


A   STOEY   OF   OUK   CIVIL   WAK.  31 

"  My  thoughts,  Miss  Kate  ?  Not  worth  a  penny, 
far  less  your  kind  interest." 

"  Oh,  then  I  am  sure  you  were  thinking  of  some- 
thing you  would  not  like  me  to  know ;  you  Southei'n- 
ers  do  not  rate  your  thoughts  so  cheaply." 

"Poor  as  my  thoughts  are,  Miss  Kate,  I'll  take 
your  penny ;  never  yet  did  a  Northerner  fail  to  get 
the  best  of  a  bargain  with  one  of  us,  rate  we  ourselves 
over  so  highly.  I  was  thinking,  then,  that  to-morrow 
I  must  up  and  away — to  see  you  all  again,  who  can 
say  when?  I  was  wondering,  too,  where  all  this 
pleasant  company  would  be  this  time  twelve  months  ! 
There  was  more  sadness  in  the  wonder  than  you  think. 
Miss  Kate.     Have  I  earned  my  penny  ?  " 

"Twice  over,"  she  answered  readily.  ""Well,  I 
for  one  expect  to  be  immured  in  solemn  Salem  walls, 
unless  Uncle  Tom  sends  for  me,  in  which  happy 
event  I  shall*  probably  be  here — giving  away  pen- 
nies to  make  moody  young  gentlemen  agreeable; 
who  knows  ?  " 

"And  I,  ditto,  or  something  not  much  better," 
said  Hal,  "unless  I  emigrate  to  China,  Australia, 
Jersey,  or  the  Fejee  Islands,  as  I  am  sorely  tempted 
sometimes.  This  is  such  a  dull  world.  Say,  Carl, 
can't  you  get  up  a  nigger  row  down  South  to  give  us 
some  excitement  ?  " 

"Keep  your  energies.  Friend  Hal,  for  something 
more  than  a  '  nigger  row.'     Hermetically  sealed  they 


32  AT  anchor; 

won't  spoil,  and,  23erhaps,  will  pay  for  the  keeping," 
Mr.  Aberthnay  replied. 

Kate  made  a  comical  face.  "  I  question  that,"  she 
said.  "What  can  he  ever  do  with  them,  unless  in 
domestic  spars ;  and  Hal  is  always  going  to  be  an  old 
bachelor,  ain't  you  Hal  ? " 

Hal  looked  dolefully  at  Mary,  but  answered  not. 

"  Even  so,"  said  Mr.  Aberthnay.  "  Ours  is  a  glori- 
ous Union.  You  at  the  Xorth  are  the  hard-fisted, 
strong-minded,  close-handed  husband  ;  we  of  the 
South,  the  impulsive  warm-hearted  wife; — here's 
chance  for  domestic  spars,  even  for  old  bachelors 
like  Hal." 

"  "We  have  heard  of  these  things  before,"  remarked 
a  visitor,  "  and  have  learned  to  appreciate  them." 

"You  do  not  appreciate  them,"  Mr.  Aberthnay 
answered  hotly,  "  or  you  would  know  better  than  to 
sneer  at  them.     Some  day  you  will  appi^ciate  thera." 

"Pray  keej)  your  politics  for  your  after  dinner 
cigars,"  I  said,  rising.  "  Let  us  have  a  walk  in  the 
garden." 

Mr.  Aberthnay  was  the  first  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion, and  we  together  led  the  way.  Fiudiug  even  the 
porch  cooler  than  I  expected,  I  returned  alone  for  a 
shawl.     I  found  quite  a  group  around  Kate. 

"  Hang  these  officers,"  one  said  with  more  emj^ha- 
sis  than  politeness,  "they  give  themselves  so  many 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   Vv'AE.  33 

"  I  hate  Southerners,"  said  Kate,  to  humor  the 
spirit  of  the  company ;  "  they  are  too  conceited  for  any 
thing." 

I  lingered  to  hear  Gilbert  answer :  "  You  should 
except  Mr.  Aberthnay, .  he  is  perfectly  unassuming 
and  unselfish  ;  how  could  he  have  said  less  ?  " 

Years  after  Gilbert  Stuart  owed  his  life  to  those 
simple  words.  I  only  thought,  hearing  them,  that  he 
did  not  care  enough  to  be  even  jealous,  for  there  was 
no  superhuman  virtue  shielding  a  rival  in  that  calm 
voice,  I  thought. 

"  Mr.  Aberthnay  must  feel  almost  a  stranger 
among  us,"  I  said,  as  I  returned  with  my  shawl,  "  and 
since  he  has  been  ordered  to  our  part  of 'the  country 
has  done  all  in  his  power  to  please  us  all.  We  ought 
not  to  visit  the  sins  of  his  country  upon  one  who  has 
so  few  of  his  own." 

I  did  not* look  at  Gilbert,  but  passed  on  to  the 
porch  where  Mr.  Aberthnay  awaited  me.  I  had 
spoken  incautiously  loud,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  he 
had  heard  me.     He  drew  my  hand  over  his  arm. 

"  It  is  such  words  as  those,  it  is  such  women  as  you, 

that  piece  the  broken  links,"  he  said,  rapidly ;  "  that 

bind  us  firmer  together  than  all  the  parchment  scrolls 

on   earth !      Something    more    than    political   cords, 

somethino:  more  than  even  social  bands  must  be  broken 

first,  our  very  heart  strings  must  be  torn  apart,  before 

it  can  be  done  ! " 
2* 


34  AT   ANCHOR  : 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"You  do  not  believe  it,"  he  continued,  "no  one 
does.  You  laugh  at  me  for  an  enthusiast,  a  dreamer, 
a  mad  prophet.  There's  a  cloud  above  us,  a  cloud  no 
larger  than  your  hand ;  it  will  cover  the  sweet  blue 
sky  above  us,  and  flood  this  fair  land  with  blood  as 
with  rain ;  I  tell  you  it  will !  " 

"  How  dare  you,"  I  cried,  turning  to  him ;  "  how 
dare  you,  Carlton  Aberthnay,  in  the  face  of  this 
glorious  night,  through  whose  gleaming  you  can  see 
the  j^roud  strength  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Fanueil  Hall, 
tell  me  they  will  ever  be  less  yours  than  mine  ?  In  the 
face  of  these  brave  forests,  no  stronger,  no  firmer  than 
the  hearts  that  guard  them ;  in  the  face  of  these  fields 
of  plenty  tilled  by  the  brawny  arms  that  will  never 
shame  their  toil,  how  dare  you  tell  me  they  will  ever 
be  needed  for  less  peaceM  labor  ?  You  stand  in  the 
veiy  home  of  Freedom,  and  talk  of  danger  to  its  loved 
and  cherished  land !  " 

"  Yes,  I  talk  of  danger  to  that  very  land,  for  fair 
as  it  seems  it  is  black  with  crime.  Think  of  it,  Miss 
Vane,  I  do  not  say  as  I  see  it,  a  soulless  despotism, 
but  as  you  see  it  every  day — a  land  of  extravagance, 
of  social  luxury,  of  utter  political  rottenness  and  cor- 
ruption, and  tell  me  what  but  a  miracle  can  save  its 
pillars  from  crumbling  to  dust,  and  its  proud  temple 
from  falling  to  the  earth  a  mass  of  blackened  ruins." 

"  Then  the  miracle  will  come,  for  God  holds  us  in 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  35 

His  hand,  preparing  us  for  humanity's  greatest  mission. 
It  is  ours ;  it  has  been  decreed  ours  from  all  eternity ; 
it  is  ours,  we  claim  it,  we  will  have  it,  and  fulfil  it. 
God  never  built  us  up  so  nobly,  to  cut  us  down  so 
soon." 

"  Xot  as  we  are  now.  From  our  ruins  shall  arise 
tlie  nation  of  which  all  mankind  have  dreamt.  The 
veritable  land  of  promise." 

"Not  from  our  country's  ruins;  but  from  the  ashes 
of  the  brand  of  evil  in  our  midst.  Burn  out  that  vile 
outrage  on  humanity,  and  we  are  purified.  Now  we 
are  not  worthy  to  think  of  our  mission." 

"  You  are  an  abolitionist,  I  see." 

"  I  am  a  human  being,  and  must  needs  share  the 
degradation  of  my  kind.  Their  tears  cry  to  heaven 
for  vengeance,  and  justice  demands  tears  for  tears, 
blood  for  blood." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Always  met  with  that,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  Be- 
cause that  is  beyond  our  power  to  change.  Is  it 
always  to  be  so  ?  Is  life  always  to  be  a  helpless 
struggle  ?  Are  we  always  to  be  seeking  a  glorious 
haven,  and  forever  dash  our  heads  against  the 
rocks?" 

"  God  knows,"  I  answered,  thinking  just  then  of 
my  own  life,  of  the  years  passed  in  security  floating 
with  the  current,  and  now,  the  sudden  breakers. 

"  Always  met  with  that,"  he  went  on.     "  Oh,  why 


36  AT  AXCHOE  : 

was  that  curse  ever  fastened  upon  our  land,  our  bright, 
glorious  Southei*n  land ;  our  land  of  plenty,  of  romance, 
art,  and  loveliness !  There  is  no  otlier  land  that  can 
compare  with  it.  God  speed  the  day  when  it  shall 
take  its  rightful  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
It  will  come,  but  its  way  will  be  strewn  with  broken 
hearts  instead  of  roses.  You  will  think  of  that  some- 
times, Avill  you  not,  Georgie,  while  I  think  of  your 
kind  words  in  there  ?     You  will,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  more  than  half  know  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about,"  I  said.  "I  know  it  sounds  somewhat 
harsh,  after  all  that  you  have  been  saying  so  j)oetically, 
to  confess  my  ignorance,  but  tell  me  what  it  all 
means." 

"  It  means  nothing  or  it  means  every  thing,"  he 
answered,  excitedly  ;  "  and  it  means  besides,  that — " 

It  is  useless  to  rejDcat  the  rest.  To  save  him,  per- 
haps myself,  I  turned  away  as  if  in  anger. 

They  had  nearly  all  returned  to  the  parlor;  as  I 
passed  by  the  open  windows  I  saw  Kate  and  Mr.  Stuart 
standing  by  themselves  away  from  the  others;  she 
arranging  some  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  he  bend- 
ing down  to  assist  her.  I  looked  back,  I  could  just 
see  the  dark  outline  of  a  figure  leaning  against  the 
fountain  in  the  garden.  I  went  back,  and  gave  him 
my  forgiveness — nothing  more  ;  had  I  looked  twice  at 
the  tableau  in  the  parlor  it  might  have  been  more, 
but  I  did  not  look. 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  31 

Mr.  Aberthnay  sprang  from  his  place,  and  pressed 
my  hands  to  his  lips.  "  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times 
even  for  this,"  he  said,  with  his  Southern  impetuosity. 
"  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

I  did  not  see  him  after  that. 

I  was  glad  to  reach  my  room  after  the  tedious  re- 
mainder of  the  evening  was  over.  I  had  to  be  alone 
by  myself,  or,  at  least,  away  from  Mr.  Stuart  and  Kate, 
to  fortify  myself,  to  assure  myself  that  I  had  done 
right. 

How  he  loved  me  !  Of  course  I  had  known  it  all 
this  time.  I  had  felt  it  every  day;  revelled  in  it  as  a 
slight  revenge  for  Gilbert's  wound;  had  sought  it, 
when  Gilbert's  coldness  had  been  more  than  I  could 
bear ;  and  now  I  had  thrown  it  away.  Was  it  right  ? 
Was  it  right  ?  How  he  loved  me !  How  his  face  had 
grown  radiant  in  my  presence !  I  had  seen  it  day  after 
day,  and  contrasted  it  with  Gilbert's  cold,  calm  de- 
meanor. How  eagerly  he  had  sprung  to  meet  me  !  I 
had  listened  for  his  quick  step,  day  after  day,  and 
each  time  thought  of  Gilbert's  slow,  steady  walk. 
How  he  loved  me  !  I  might  kneel  in  vain  to  Gilbert. 
One  word  would  bring  him  to  me,  to  be  forever 
mine. 

I  tried  to  write  that  word,  but  proud,  vain  girl 
though  I  was,  I  was  still  woman  enough  to  try  in  vain. 

"  I  will  go  and  talk  to  some  of  the  girls  to  put  this 
thing  out  of  my  head,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  turned 


38  AT   ANCHOR  : 

toward  Kate's  room ;  but  how  could  I  hope  to  conquer 
myself  with  her  against  me  ?  I  was  not  good  enough 
to  hear  Mary's  eager  hopes,  so  I  went  to  Emma's 
room.  It  was  very  seldom  I  ever  did  so,  for  until 
lately — perhaps  the  change  was  my  fault — Emma  had 
always  come  to  me. 

"  It  is  I,  Emma,"  I  said,  not  waiting  for  my  knock 
to  be  answered.     "  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply,  the  room  was  quite  dark ;  for 
a  moment  I  was  almost  frightened,  the  next  I  thought 
that  the  silly  girl  was  probably  in  some  cozy  corner 
dreaming  of  her  lover  over  the  seas,  as  we  always 
called  him. 

I  lighted  the  gas  with  careless  freedom,  and,  as  I 
anticipated,  quickly  discovered  Emma  sitting  by  the 
window  with  her  head  on  her  arms. 

"  Dreaming,  awake  or  asleep,"  I  asked,  raising  her 
head. 

A  tearful  face  tried  to  hide  itself  from  me. 
"  Tears ! "  I  exclaimed,  preparing  myself  for  the 
story  of  some  lover's  quarrel.  How  small,  how  child- 
ish seemed  all  other  griefs  compared  to  mine  !  "  What 
has  gone  wrong  now  ?  What  right  has  anybody  in 
this  house  to  cry  away  from  me.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  I  can  never  tell  any  one. 
Please  put  out  the  light ;  I  don't  want  it." 

I  put  it  out,  and  drew  Emma  nearer  to  me,  and,  by 
and  by,  she  told  me  her  "  little  tale." 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  39 

"  I  have  been  deceiving  you  all  the  time,"  she  said. 
"I  have  let  you  believe  all  about  that  man  you 
thought  I  cared  for,  but  it  was  not  true ;  I  do  not  care 
for  him." 

"  But  you  care  for  somebody ;  everybody  cares  for 

somebody  ?  " 

"  Everybody  ?     Then  you  do  ;  tell  me  is  it — " 

"  After  you,  my  love." 

"  It  is  so  silly ;  so  like  every  thing  else ;  just  like  a 
hundred  stories  ;  how  I  went  around  and  saw  so  many 
people,  and  fancied  one  here,  and  one  there ;  and  said 
things  that  I  did  not  mean,  and  had  them  misunder- 
stood ;  and  said  things  in  fun,  and  had  them  taken  in 
earnest ;  until  one  day,  oh !  such  a  lovely,  beautiful 
day,  when -my  mind  was  all  full  of  other  things,  I  was 
taken  into  a  room  full  of  company,  and  as  many  as  a 
dozen  gentlemen  were  all  introduced  to  me  at  once, 
and  I  just  bowed  to  them  all,  and  was  tired  and  wished 
them  all  gone,  when  one  said  something  that  made 
me  look  up  to  his  face,  and — now  I  know  you  are 
going  to  laugh — but  it  is  true,  just  as  we  read  in 
books,  and  never  believe,  I  felt  some  one  say,  that  is, 
as  plainly  as  if  some  one  whispered  it  to  me,  '  It  is  all 
over  now — you  must  love  him  always.'  But  I  can't 
put  it  into  words.  I  did  not  think  much  about  it  then ; 
I  accepted  the  conviction.  He  seemed  to  understand 
it ;  so  did  everybody  else,  and  no  one  interfered  with 
us.     Oh !  how  I  should  love  to  tell  you  all  about  those 


40  AT  anchor: 

blessed  days,  I  remember  every  hour  of  them.  But  it 
would  tire  you." 

I  protested  against  this,  but  she  was  firm.  "  I  did 
not  want  to  tell  anybody  while  every  thing  went  on 
well,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  believe  it  all  if  I 
talked  too  much  about  it.  I  never  coquetted  with 
him ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  now  if  I  had.  I  was 
too  truthful,  too  trustful ;  men  never  love  you  half  so 
well  as  when  you  are  indifferent  to  them." 

I  almost  thought  so  too. 

"I  was  too  happy,* too  secure;  I  did  not  suppose 
any  thing  could  happen,  but  something  did.  He 
would  not  listen  to  me,  or  when  he  did,  in  so  cold 
and  incredulous  a  way  that  I  could  not  justify  myself, 
and,  after  all,  I  had  done  nothing  wrong." 

"  How  long  ago  was  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  long  ago — about  two  years." 

"  ^^ell,  and  then  ?  " 

"  I  -ought  to  marry  somebody  else,  oughtn't  I, 
Georgie?  You  know  whom  I  mean.  Of  course  he, 
does  not  love  me  now." 

"  Of  course  not.  Do  you  suppose  if  a  man  loved 
you  he  could  leave  you  two  months,  not  to  say  two 
years,  in  doubt  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  could.  But  I  know  if  I  should 
ever  meet  him  again,  it  would  all  be  as  it  was.  I 
keep  turning  this  over  and  over  in  my  mind  until  I 
am  half  wild.  I  have  argued  it  from  every  point  of 
view,  and  what  to  do  I  cannot  say." 


A   STOKY    OF    OUK    CIVIL   WAE.  41 

"  You  have  no  right  to  marry  any  man  feeling  so," 
I  answered  decidedly.  It  is  so  easy  to  decide  for 
another. 

"  But  I  might  love  him  afterwards  ?  " 

"  It  is  too  great  a  risk." 

"But  I  am  afraid  that,  in  my  foolish  despair,  I 
have  made  it  too  late." 

"  You  are  not  married ;  it  is  never  too  late  until 
then." 

"  And  then,  Georgie,  what  do  you  suppose  women 
do?" 

"  Die ;  or  pray  to,"  I  answered,  in  my  old  way. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  yet  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  you  have  no  time  for  hesitation." 

It  is  so  easy  to  be  strong  for  others. 

She  relit  the  gas,  and  wrote  a  short  note,  which  she 
handed  me  to  read.     It  was  a  decided  refusal. 

"After  all,  I  feel  relieved,"  she  said,  sealing  it 
slowly,  "  and  shall  be  more  so  when  it  is  out  of  iny 
power  to  recall  this  answer.  But  it  is  hard ;  am  I 
right  to  stand  by  that  v/hich  may  be  only  a  delusion, 
and  sacrifice  half  my  life  for  it  ?     Who  knows  ?  " 

After  a  silence  she  said : 

"I  never  doubted  your  fate,  Georgie,  until  that 
night  you  told  me  you  thought  Mr.  Stuart  was  en- 
gaged to  Kate.  Xow,  I  do  not  know  what  to  think, 
only  that  it  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  I  know  Mr. 
Stuart  is  not  quite  so  fascinating,  and  rich,  and  pol- 


42  AT  anchor; 

islied  as  a  certain  somebody  not  a  thousand  miles 
away,  but  I  never  imagined  wealth,  station,  or  mere 
ac(}omplishments,  would  weigh  a  feather  in  the  bal- 
ance with  you !  " 

"  Of  themselves,  never,"  I  replied.  "  I  do  not  care 
one  iota  for  wealth  or  station,  but  I  do  care  for  the 
mind  that  commands  position.  I  do  care  for  the  spirit 
and  the  enterprise  that  walks  boldly  up  and  claims  its 
own  from  the  world.  I  do  not  believe  these  things 
are  mere  accidents,  or  the  reward  of  impudence.  Fate' 
and  Fortune  are  not  so  blind  as  they  are  represented. 
Now,  I  do  not  thmk  any  combination  of  circumstances 
could  make  a  great  man  of  Gilbert  Stuart ;  it  is  not 
in  him  to  be  more  than  he  is  :  calm,  generous,  and  re- 
liable, always  trusted,  always  respected ;  never  a 
leader." 

"  TTho  would  be  a  leader  if  such  qualities  did  not 
make  him  such  ?  Who  would  be  a  crazy  enthusiast, 
mad  on  one  idea,  whirled  along  to-day  in  a  triumj)hal 
car  by  an  excited  populace,  and  thro\^Ti  in  the  street 
to-morrow  to  make  way  for  some  equally  mad  succes- 
sor ?  Not  I,  indeed.  No,  give  me  the  man  of  even 
mind,  of  practical  thought,  quiet,  calm,  reliable ;  for, 
after  all,  he  is  the  real  leader.  What  a  man  to  trust 
to,  to  live  for,  to  die  for  !  Why,  Georgie,  if  such  a 
one  loved  me,  I  should  worship)  the  very  earth  that 
held  him,  and  you  do  not  ?  " 

"  I  do !  "  almost  burst  from  my  lips,  but  I  answer- 


A   STORY    OF    OUK   CITIL   WAR.  43 

ed  indifferently.  "  I  am  not  given  the  choice.  Well 
for  me  that  I  am  not,  perhaps,  for  all  women  are  fools, 
when  it  comes  to  that.  I  should  be  false  to  all  that  is 
strongest  and  best  in  myself  if  I  did  not  seize,  at  all 
hazards,  the  place  where  my  work  would  be  the  hard- 
est and  greatest — " 

"  You  talk  all  sides,  Georgie,"  interrupted  Emma. 
"  You  would  have  me  sacrifice  life  for  love,  and  throw 
love  to  the  winds  yourself.  How  often  have  you  said 
*the  marriage  rite  is  woman's  best  right?'  " 

"  For  other  people." 

"  For  you,  and  me,  and  everybody.  There  isn't  any 
one  to  hear  us ;  I  will  even  put  out  the  light  if  you  wish, 
so  that  we  may  not  see  each  the  other's  foolish  face  as 
we  confess  that  the  world,  with  all  its  pomp  and  show, 
its  wild  and  thrilling  romance,  its  power  and  luxury, 
its  grandeur ^and  beauty,  has  no  life  to  rival  the  life 
of  a  loved  and  lovuag  wife ;  say  it,  Georgie." 

"The  power  and  the  luxury,  the  grandeur  and 
beauty,  the  romance,  the  pomp  and  show,  we  all  of  us 
know  more  or  less  about — ^have  all  seen  something 
which  was  real  and  tangible  in  them ;  but  who  ever 
saw  a  loved  and  loving  wife  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,  Georgie." 

"  Grant  that  such  a  thing  can  be,  is  it  not,  after  all, 
a  refinement  of  selfishness,  the  life  she  leads  ?-  Is  it 
any  merit  if  she  secures  her  husband's  comfort  and 
happiness  at  every  cost,  since  securing  his  is  securing 


44  AT  anchor: 

her  own  ?  She  makes  no  sacrifices,  she  has  no  sorrows ; 
what  seem  such  are  merely  small  prices  that  she  pays 
for  immense  joys.  But  for  her  who  denies  self,  who 
throws  every  gratification  beneath  her  feet,  how  infi- 
nitely holier  the  destiny  !  " 

"  Then  you  justify  Mary  ?  " 

"  Xo,  it  must  be  done  for  some  work,"  I  answered, 
confiisedly;  for,  truth  to  tell,  I  was  arguing  down 
myself,  not  Emma,  and  was  venturing  on  unknown 
ground,  "  some  work  that  puts  her  talent  out  to  inter- 
est." 

"  And  all  this  to  j^rove  that  you  are  right  in  sacri- 
ficing one  of  the  best  and  most  generous  of  men  to 
your  ambition !     It  just  amounts  to  that." 

"  If  by  one  of  the  best  and  most  generous  of  men 
you  mean  Mr.  Gilbert  Stuart,  permit  me  to  inform 
you  that  it  is  not,  and  never  has  been  in  my  power  to 
have  the  slightest  influence  on  his  destiny,  one  way 
or  the  other." 

"I  never  thought  you  so  unreasonable,"  Emma 
said.  "You  know  the  man  loves  you;  everybody 
knows  that.  Only  yesterday  your  jewel  of  a  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Glynn,  gave  me  a  glowing  account  of  the 
way  in  which  she  and  your  uncle  would  marry  you 
ofiT,  and  could  not  tell  me  enough  of  the  charming  gen- 
erosity Avith  which  you  recognized  true  worth — that 
is,  Gilbert  Stuart — and  was  undazzled  by  outside  glit- 
ter— that  is,  Carlton  Aberthnay." 


A   STOEY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  45 

"Mrs.  Glynn  was  very  impertinent,"  I  replied, 
quickly,  "  and  I  would  thank  you,  Emma,  not  to  dis- 
cuss my  affairs  with  my  uncle's  housekeeper." 

"Now,  wherein  have  I  offended  your  ladyship ? " 
Emma  cried,  quite  undaunted  by  my  remark,  the  hard- 
est that  had  ever  passed  my  lips.  "  It  can't  be  Carl- 
ton—" 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked,  haughtily,  and  asked  with- 
out knowing  why.     "  Why  not  Mr.  Aberthnay  ?  " 

"  There !  Now,  I  see  it  all !  Oh,  Georgie,  I 
thought  you  the  truest,  bravest,  and  sincerest  woman 
in  the  world  !  So  fall  our  idols  at  every  step !  You 
a  flirt,  a  coquette,  like  all  the  rest !  just  as  ready  to 
throw  aside  a  brave,  true  heart,  for  a  heavier  purse,  as 
any  of  the  rest !  Where  is  your  cousin  Florence  ?  I 
will  make  her  my  next  idol ;  she  fights  under  no  false 
colors,  at  least.  Just  like  all  the  rest,  Georgie;  so 
strong  and  brave  for  me,  so  weak  and  ambitious  for 
yourself ! " 

.     So  she  drew  away  from  me,  and  judged  me  with 
her  half  knowledge. 

Who  drew  away  from  him,  who  blamed  him  when 
he  wrung  my  heart  with  his  deception  ?  Who  blamed 
him  when  he  came  in  his  manly  strength  and  vigor  to 
poison  my  fresh,  young  life  ?  Who  blamed  him  when 
he  sought,  in  deliberate  cruelty,  the  wild,  devoted  love 
for  which  he  could  not  return  even  the  semblance  ? 
Who  blamed  him  when.  I  writhed  in  my  anguish  in 


46  AT  anchor: 

the  solitude  of  the  night,  while  he  played  with  the 
roses  in  my  garden  ? 

Who  blamed  him?  Who  dared?  Close  in  my 
heart  I  held  his  secret ;  those  who  would  not  let  the 
winds  of  heaven  blow  too  roughly  against  my  cheek 
loaded  hiui  with  honor.  So  it  should  be.  Till  I  died 
no  one  should  know  of  his  wrong  to  me,  say  what 
they  would  of  me. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  come  and  see  if  Mary  is  better 
contented  than  the  rest  of  us." 

We  entered  her  room  softly.  She  was  sleeping 
sweetly ;  the  rosary  she  held  in  her  hand  under  her 
head  had  gently  indented  her  rosy  cheek,  fair  and  soft 
as  that  of  an  infant's. 

"  She  must  be  dreaming  of  angels,"  Emma  whis- 
pered. 

"  While  we  have  spent  our  thoughts  on  we?z,"  I 
added,  ashamed  of  myself  "  Who  knows,  Emma — it 
seems  almost  wicked  to  question  it — who  knows  but, 
after  all,  Mary  has  chosen  the  better  part  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  Emma  echoed ;  and  her  eyes,  as 
they  turned  from  Mary  to  me,  had  a  look  in  them  that 
haunts  me  still. 


CHAPTER    ly. 

"  Why  did  you  ever  let  that  handsome  young  sol- 
dier off  without  warning  me  ?  "  my  aunt  Graham  said 
to  me  the  next  morning,  when  it  became  fairly  under- 
stood that  half  of  the  officers,  among  them  Mr.  Ab- 
erthnay,  who  had  enlivened  our  little  town  for  the  past 
two  years,  had  been  ordered  away.  "  Why  did  you 
not  let  me  know  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  such  an  item  would  esspecially 
interest  you,"  I  answered. 

"  Really  ?  You  are  very  short-sighted,  I  must  say. 
But  I  won't  scold  you ;  I  have  had  enough  of  that 
with  Florence." 

"  What  has  Florence  been  doing  ?  "  asked  my  un- 
cle. "Xot  flirting  with  our  *  handsome  young  sol- 
dier,' I  hope,  because  I  shall,  then,  have  to  scold  too." 

"  My  daughter  never  flirts,"  Mrs.  Graham  answer- 
ed. "  In  truth,  I  almost  wish  she  would,  occasionally. 
She  is  too  indifferent  to  please  my  fancy.  I  was  just 
saying  to  her  that  she  has  treated  Mr.  Abeithnay 
very  unkindly." 


48  AT  aistchor: 

I  felt  my  eyes  were  dangerous,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  What  strange  fate  was  it  that  made  me 
always  Mr.  Aberthnay's  champion?  Was  it  merely 
contempt  for  Florence  and  pride  in  myself  that  made 
me  angry  that  her  name  should  be  mentioned  in  con- 
nection with  one  who  was  so  much  my  friend  ? 

"Very  unkindly,"  Mrs.  Graham  rattled  on.  "Al- 
though Florence  is  the  gentlest  creature,  and  the  most 
artless  in  the  world.  At  least,  I  think  so ;  for  JMr. 
Aberthnay  seems  to  me  a  very  superior  young  gen- 
tleman, and  it  has  pained  me  very  much  that  Flor- 
ence— " 

"  That  Florence,  what  ?  "  I  asked,  turning  suddenly, 
as  she  made  a  pause — a  pause  which  said  more  than 
words. 

My  aunt  played  with  the  tassel  of  her  morning 
dress  and  smiled. 

"  You  are  in  a  very  bad  humor  this  morning,  Cou- 
sin Georgie." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  about  Florence  and 
Mr.  Aberthnay  ?  "  I  asked,  not  noticing  her  opinion  of 
my  humor. 

"About  Florence  and  Mr.  Aberthnay?"  she  re- 
peated. "  What  have  I  to  say  about  them  ?  I  have 
always  made  it  a  point  never  to  influence  my  children 
in  any  way,  not  even  by  a  look ;  and  whatever  I  might 
have  wished,  I  give  it  up  cheerfully,  believing  it  to  be 
all  for  the  best." 


A    STOKY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  49 

Of  course  I  did  not  believe  one  word  of  her  insinu- 
ations ;  but  Florence  was  one  of  my  aversions,  and 
every  thing  her  mother  said  angered  me. 

"  So,  Florence  would  not  see  Mr.  Aberthnay  with 
your  eyes,"  I  said,  at  last.  "  A  thousand  pities  !  Sup- 
posing Mr.  Aberthnay  should  shoot  himself,  or  do 
some  horrible  thing,  how  dreadful  it  would  be  !  " 

"Are  you  two  women  going  to  light  ?  "  Uncle  Tom 
said,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  comical  be- 
wilderment. "Because,  'pon  honor,  I  oan't  allow 
it." 

"  Georgie  is  only  a  little  out  of  humor  this  morn- 
ing," my  aunt  answered.  "  She  cannot  help  her  na- 
ture, you  know,  I  do  not  know  but  I  rather  like  her 
little  tempers ;  they  are  amusing.  Florence,  you 
know,  never  changes :  she  is  always  the  same  sweet- 
tempered  child.  I  often  wish  she  was  not  so  much  so. 
But  I'll  leave  you,  Georgie,  to  find  your  smiles  again. 
Bye-bye." 

As  she  went  out  she  dropped  a  letter  from  her  lap 
on  the  floor,  but  passed  on  without  noticing  it.  Uncle 
Tom  picked  it  up  and  threw  it  carelessly  into  my 
work-basket.  I  would  no  more  have  touched  it  than 
if  it  had  been  burning  coal,  but  I  could  not  help  see- 
ing that  it  was  addressed  to  Florence,  and  was  in  Mr, 
Aberthnay's  writing. 

"  What !  another  !  "  I  thought  j  and  remembering 
her  last  words,  her  comparison  between  Florence  and 
3 


60  AT  axchoe: 

me,  I  knew  she  was  not  satisfied  yet,  would  not  be 
satisfied  until  she  had  taken  my  all, 

"  What  did  she  mean,  Georgie  ?  "  Uncle  Tom  ask- 
ed, after  nearly  fifteen  minutes'  silence,  and  throwing 
down  his  paper  with  a  tired  gesture. 

"  She  wants  to  take  every  thing  from  me ;  she 
wants  to  turn  everybody  against  me.  Against  me, 
because  I  am  fiatherless,  motherless,  and — " 

My  uncle  was  not  given  to  sentiment.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  my  mouth  to  stop  me,  then  took  me  tenderly 
in  his  anns. 

"Your  father  neglected  your  mother,"  he  said; 
"  left  her,  night  after  night,  and  day  after  day,  with- 
out a  friend  or  a  comforter ;  and  when  I  interpreted 
her  silence  as  pride,  and  begged  her  to  accept  my  sym- 
pathy as  that  of  a  brother,  he  piled  insult  on  insult 
upon  her  glorious  young  head,  until  she  fled  from  him 
in  terror,  and  the  morning  found  her  dead.  Your  fa- 
ther has  never  asked  for  you  from  that  day  to  this. 
To  whom  do  you  belong  most,  eh?  Whom  would 
your  mother  trust  you  with  if  not  with  me  ?  And  do 
you  think  you  can  ever  get  away  from  me  ?  Try  it ! 
that  is  all." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Slowly  the  long  summer  came  to  an  end.  Our 
boats  rocked  idly  on  the  river,  which  the  falling  leaves 
were  already  choking ;  our  horses  neighed  unheeded 
in  the  stables,  our  voices  echoed  dully  in  the  parlors, 
for  our  guests  had  departed ;  not  all  the  splendor  of  a 
"New  England  autumn  could  enliven  our  lonely  house, 
and  I  knew  not  how  to  face  the  sadness  of  the  cold 
but  gorgeous  sunsets,  so  mournful  even  when  our 
souls  are  at  rest. 

"  Uncle,"  I  said,  "  let  us  follow  the  birds." 

"  Aha ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  set  my  Georgie's  thoughts 
in  that  quarter?  Verily,  a  few  days  more  in  this 
deserted  house  and  I  shall  learn  all  her  secrets." 

"Let  us  have  no  secrets,  uncle,  no  thoughts,  no 
cares,  no  feelings ;  let  us  leave  them  as  the  birds  have 
left  their  nests,  once  loved  now  forgotten.  Let  us 
lead  a  gay,  sans  souci  life,  until  the  sentimental  summer 
brings  us  new  thoughts  and  feelings." 

"  New  cares  and  new  secrets  too,  eh  ?  Why,  child, 
I  thought  no  life  was  gay  to  you,  except  that  of  your 
books,  your  music,  and  your  rides." 


62  AT  anchoe: 

"  When  I  was  a  child  you  know,  uncle.  I  want  to 
be  a  young  lady  for  the  little  time  that  is  left  me 
before  I  settle  down  to  spinsterhood.  I  want  you  to 
buy  me  a  new  Saratoga  trunk  and  fill  it  with  hand- 
some things,  and — " 

"  For  a  season." 

"  Let  us  be  meiTy  before  we  go." 

"  Want  to  empty  this,  do  you  ?  "  holding  before  my 
eyes  his  well-filled  pocket-book.  "  Want  to  empty 
this,  do  you,  you  young  extravaganza  ?  That's  the 
way  with  you  women !  " 

"  That  is  our  mission.  Uncle  Tom.  If  I  have 
hitherto  neglected  fulfilling  it  I  hereby  promise  amend- 
ment, certain  that  you  need  never  complain  of  me  in 
the  future." 

"  Beauty  unadorned — "  began  my  uncle. 

"  Belongs  to  a  past  era,"  I  interrupted.  "  Am  I 
good  looking,  uncle  ?  " 

"  'Pon  honor,  really,  you  embarrass  me.  Well — 
now — 'pon  honor,  can't  say  I  was  ever  in  such  a  fix 
before.     All  women  are  handsome." 

*'  But  in  difierent  degrees ;  what  is  mine  ?" 

"  Well,  really  you  are  hard  upon  me,  not  but  what 
I've  done  such  a  thing  as  tell  a  lady  she  was  pretty. 
In  my  younger  days  I  might  have  staved  ofi"  your 
question  with  a  compliment,  now  I  leave  it  to  younger 
heads ;  what  do  the  young  men  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No  man  living  ever  dared  speak  to  me  of  my  looks  1 " 


A   STOEY   OF   OUE   CIVIL   AVAE.  63 

"  No  one  ever  told  you  you  were  handsome  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Then  you  may  be  certain  that  you  are." 

"  I  don't  As-ant  that  kind  of  certainty,  I  want  your 
candid,  unbiassed  opinion ;  I  suppose  you  are  a  judge?  " 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  I  believe  I  am ;  Jack  used  to 
say  I  could  tell  a  pretty  girl  as  far  off  as  I  could  see  a 
church  spire." 

"  I  am  not  prettj/,  I  know  that." 

"  And  as  for  the  other — let  me  see,"  and  he  put  on 
the  eye-glasses  he  never  wore  before  any  one  except 
me,  who^e  discretion  he  knew.  "  'Pon  honor.  Cousin 
Georgie,  I  never  knew  before  what  a  dashed  fine  look- 
ing woman  you  are  !  But  how  is  this — the  last  time  I 
looked  at  you  you  were  a  red-cheeked,  round-faced 
lassie  ;  where  have  the  roses  gone  ?  " 

"  The  summer  has  passed,"  I  said,  so  mournfully 
that  my  own  voice  startled  me.  "  So  your  judgment 
may  be  considered  favorable  ?  " 

"  In  the  highest  degree." 

"  May  I  ask  you  one  question  more  ?  "What  is  the 
first  duty  of  a  handsome  woman  ?  " 

"  Ahem !  Upon  my  honor,  I  am  again  embar- 
rassed. The  first  duty  of  a  handsome  woman  is — to 
make  the  most  of  her  beauty." 

"By—?" 

"  By  dressing,  dancing,  flirting,  and  making  fools 
of  her  natural"  enemy,  mankind." 


54  AT  ats^chob: 

"  Put  that  down  in  your  note  book.  You  say  I  am 
a  handsome  woman  whose  duty  is  to  flii't,  dress,  dance, 
and  fool  mankind;  it  is  your  duty,  as  you  stood 
sponsor  for  me,  to  see  that  I  perform  my  duty." 

"  Bless  me  !     What  a  logical  mind  it  has  !  " 

"  Now,  once  more,  uncle,  do  you  know  how  old  I 
am?" 

"  'Pon  honor,  no  !  I^ever  knew  a  lady's  age  in  all 
my  life ;  never  knew  she  had  one." 

"  In  society  of  course  not,  but  just  privately,  be- 
tween ourselves,  I  have  an  age ;  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  Guess." 

"  More  impossible." 

"  Calculate." 

"  Most  impossible." 

"  THnk." 

"I  can't!" 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you, — I  am  twenty-one." 

"  Bless  me !  How  shocking  !  Have  you  no  respect 
for  my  nerves  ?    Twenty-eight — " 

"  Twenty-o;z6." 

"  Which  means  five  years  more." 

"  Not  in  my  case." 

"  Well,  as  you  say ;  never  contradict  a  lady.  Is  it 
a  fair  question  to  ask  how  long  you  have  been  twenty- 
one  ?  " 

"  Long  enough  to  learn  I  can  be  twenty-one  only  a 


A   STORY    OE    OUR   CIVIL    AVAR.  55 

month  or  two  more  ;  long  enough  to  know  I  ought  to 
be  fulfilling  my  mission." 

"  Oh,  indisputably." 

"  Then  when  do  we  begin  ?  " 

"  Does  that  apply  to  me,  or  to  my  pocket-book  ?  " 

"  To  both." 

"  Then,  at  once,  what  can  the  former  do  ?  " 

"  Escort  me  after  the  birds,  as  I  said." 

"  The  birds  are  sorely  scattered,  and  the  Eagle 

*  Clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands, 
Close  to  the  sun  m  soutJiern  lands.' 

In  a  Louisiana  fort,  I  believe." 

I  did  not  especially  fancy  this,  my  uncle's  distant 
allusion  to  Mr.  Aberthnay,  who  was  my  uncle's 
favorite  of  all  young  gentlemen  who  visited  us ;  so  I 
answered  quickly : 

"  Who  cares  for  eagles,  uncle,  save  the  respectable 
bii'd  that  upholds  our  national  honor  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  whither  shall  we  wing  our  flight  ?  " 

"Wherever  the  harvest  of  heartlessness  is  the 
plentiest." 

"  I  don't  like  this,"  he  said,  changing  his  tone ;  "  we 
have  carried  the  jest  far  enough.  I  believe  there  is 
something  wrong  under  it." 

I  left  my  seat,  and  going  to  him,  said  :  "  Look  at 
me.  Uncle  Yane,  is  there  a  line  in  my  face,  a  shade, 
even,  that  speaks  of  folly,  wrong,  or  deceit  beneath  ?  " 


56  AT  a^'CHOr: 

''  Bless  you,  child,  no  !  no  !  Don't  I  know  it  ? 
Can  I  not  read  it  as  plainly  as  if  in  a  book  ?  Earnest, 
truthful,  high-toned,  and  conscientious.  Do  not  ask 
me,  did  I  not  know  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Then  for  her  sake  trust  me.  Take  me  with  you 
to  some  of  our  large  cities,  anywhere  where  the  world 
is  in  motion.  Let  me  make  the  most  of  my  few  gifts, 
and  gladden  your  old  heart  by  my  success." 

"  My  '  old  heart ! '  faith.  Miss  Vane,  you  are  peculiar 
in  your  choice  of  adjectives.  The  heart  may  be  older 
in  the  breast  of  a  girl  young  as  you,  than  in  that  of  a 
man  of  twice  my  years." 

"  And  it  is,  uncle,"  I  murmured ;  and  then  dis- 
tinctly, "  I  judged  by  the  good  it  has  done,  not  the 
years  it  has  lived." 

"  There  !  there  !  Very  well  put !  very  well  put ! 
But  what  was  that  you  said  first  ?  " 

"  One  word,  Uncle  Tom ;  no  answer,  no  comment : 
mine  is  like  Niobe,  turned  to  stone." 

"  By  overmuch  weeping  ?  I  admire  your  good 
sense,  Georgie,  in  keeping  yom-  tears  there ;  they 
would  have  ruined  your  eyes." 

"  Thank  you.     Where  are  we  to  spend  the  winter  ?  " 

"Where  ever  you  will.  Washington  is  dull,  al- 
ways dull  to  me,  but  I  think  you  would  like  it.  I 
wish  we  had  an  intriguing,  diplomatic,  courtly  capital ; 
there  would  be  your  element.  Let  us  try  a  little  of 
New  York  first." 


A    STOKY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  57 

"  So  be  it,  and  I  will  commence  my  shopping  at 
once.  Give  me  lots  of  money,  uncle,  it  may  be  my 
last  effort ;  let  me  go  gorgeously  through  it." 

"  Insatiable  girl !  You  will  ruin  some  poor  fellow 
yet,  by  your  extraA^agance." 

"  Woman's  mission,"  I  answered,  as  he  gave  me  a 
roll  of  bills.  "  I  should  not  wonder  if  I  had  found  the 
real  solution  of  that  grand  problem  Woman's  Mights, 
Thank  you.  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Will  it  soften — "  he  began. 

"  Hush ! "  I  said,  and  left  him. 
3* 


CHAPTER  VL 

Who  glories  not  in  the  activity  of  real  city  life  ! 
The  never-resting  crowd,  pushing,  jostling,  pressing, 
hurrying  each  for  liis  own  particular  goal ;  what  life 
can  be  called  life  beside  it  ?  How  the  sluggish  blood 
starts  up  and  tingles  through  our  veins  !  How  the 
languid  nerves  spring  into  action,  as  we  mingle  with 
our  kind,  straining  like  them,  for  power,  wealth, 
fame,  and  happiness,  each  man  for  his  own  idol !  I 
love  the  sweet,  green  fields,  the  far,  blue  sky,  the 
dark,  forest  crowned  hills,  the  murmuring  brooks,  the 
gushing  rivers;  but  I  revel  in  the  noisy,  rattling, 
stirring  town,  where  God's  last,  best  works  are  living 
out  their  lives  together. 

I  felt  my  life  renewed,  even  as  the  pent-up  city 
denizen  renews  his  in  the  summer  vacation.  I 
returned  home,  from  those  few  days'  shopping,  strong- 
er, braver  than  I  had  been  for  months  before;  I 
could  even  think  of  meeting  Florence,  and  my  old 
enemy,  my  aunt  Graham,  with  equanimity.  A  trial 
which  I  was,  however,  spared,  for  they  had  flown  off 
to  the  South  for  the  winter  and  spring. 


A    STOKY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   AVAE.  59 

I  remember  very  well  the  night  previous  to  our 
departure.  I  came  down  to  our  cozy  little  sitting- 
room,  Avhich  was  the  favorite  of  all  our  lower  rooms, 
in  my  travelling  dress,  alone,  and  with  that  peculiar 
feeling  one  has  after  locking  drawers  and  packing 
trunks.  My  uncle  Tom  was  in  his  library,  deep  in  his 
papers,  and  giving  directions  to  everybody  for  the 
care  of  the  house  in  his  absence  ;  a  thorough  old  maid 
in  this  was  my  dear  uncle  Tom.  A  long  dreary  No- 
vember storm  had  desolated  the  streets  of  our  never 
very  lively  little  village,  and  fearing  no  intrusion  I 
wandered  around  the  room  in  a  listless  way,  a  little 
softened  by  the  loneliness  of  the  once  gay  household. 

Old  memories  came  creeping  to  me,  as  I  sat  down, 
at  last,  in  the  firelight ;  little  speeches,  isolated  sen- 
tences, pleasant  meetings,  tearful  partings,  quiet 
evenings,  and  dashing  parties ;  little  things,  but  full 
of  meaning  to  me.  Round  school-girl  faces,  even  now, 
some  of  them  elongated  to  suit  the  dignity  of  married 
life  ;  some  dead,  all  scattered  !  What  hopeful  projects 
we  had  planned,  what  blushing  tales  confessed,  sit- 
ting around  that  now  lonely  fireplace  !  They  soften- 
ed me,  hardened  as  I  had  made  myself  since  then,  and 
finally,  yielding  to  their  influence,  I  knelt  down  in 
the  red  light,  sighing  my  requiem  over  my  lost 
girlhood. 

A  step  at  the  door  startled  me.  I  arose  quickly, 
and  advanced  to  meet  my  visitor.     It  was  Gilbert, 


60  AT  anchor: 

just  out  of  the  rain  and  dark ;  I  could  not  help  a  little 
start  of  surprise. 

"  I  felt  as  if  I  should  do  something  desperate  if  I 
stayed  at  home  another  day,"  he  said,  half  answering 
that  start.  "  These  rains  are  stupid.  I  find  I  cannot 
see  Mr.  Yane  quite  yet  ?  " 

"  ]N'o,"  I  said,  "  he  has  laid  us  under  orders  not  to 
venture  near  him  for  two  hours  to  come." 

He  took  the  chair  I  offered  him,  and  leaned  cheer- 
fully toward  the  fire.  He  had  made  us  but  few  calls 
since  the  summer  and  Kate  had  left  us,  but  it  had 
made  no  difference  in  his  manner,  which  was  still  that 
of  an  old  friend  and  favored  guest,  only  that  now  he 
seemed  to  avoid  the  large  chair  always  placed  near 
my  little  work  table,  which  had  formerly  been  his 
usual  seat. 

He  would  not  let  me  light  the  gas,  preferring  the 
softened  light  from  the  hall,  he  said,  and  said  with  the 
same  apparent  confidence  in  my  consent  with  which 
he  would  have  made  the  request  a  year  before.  I 
would  have  resisted,  but  he  turned  his  eyes  undaunt- 
edly toward  me,  with  manlike  consciousness  of 
power,  scattering  my  frail  defences  like  chaff  before 
the  wind,  and  I  yielded  with  what  grace  I  could,  and 
essaying  a  half  indifferent,  careless  glance,  I  took  my 
usual  seat  by  the  table ;  but  under  his  fearless  eyes, 
though  I  brought  all  my  strength  to  aid  me  in  the 
contest,  mine  wavered  and  fell. 


A    STOEY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAE.  Ql 

1  could  not  help  it,  I  struggled  hard,  but  his  eyes 
could  have  led  me  through  fire  and  death,  with  but 
half  the  mingled  emotions  that  were  in  them  then. 
What  if  the  past  six  months  could  be  blotted  out,  and 
the  old  times  back  again !  Could  I  be  deceived ;  in 
spite  of  all  did  he  not  love  me,  had  he  not  always 
loved  me  ?  TThat  right  then  had  any  other  to  come 
between  us  ? 

I  heard  his  voice,  some  every-day  words,  but  it 
was  a  reason  to  meet  his  eyes  again,  and  for  the  burn- 
ing blush  and  quick-dropping  eyes  to  own  him  con- 
queror. He  knew  enough  not  to  proclaim  his  victory 
too  soon,  not  until  he  had  played  the  vanquished.  I 
could  not  help  it.  What,  if  years  or  oceans  had 
separated  us,  could  I  refuse,  meeting,  to  those  dear 
eyes  ?  By  and  by  he  came  to  his  old  place,  and  soon 
my  work  basket  came  under  contribution^  for  his 
amusement,  as  of  old ;  it  did  my  heart  good,  though 
I  made  a  great  show  of  opposition,  to  see  him  clipping 
my  thread,  entangling  my  silks,  twisting  my  ribbons, 
and  notching  my  spools,  as  he  had  done  so  often  in 
the  olden  time.  I  lost  not  a  word  he  said,  not  a 
sound  of  his  voice ;  there  was  no  power  within  me  to 
remember  that  miniature,  which  he,  too,  seemed  to 
have  forgotten. 

It  seems  to  me  I  never  sang  as  I  did  that  night, 
with  that  one  listener,  who  never  praised,  but  only 
dreamily  heard. 


62  AT  anchor: 

"  Tour  next  audience  will  be  a  fashionable  Xew 
York  crowd,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  as  I  turned  around 
on  the  piano  stool.  "How  can  you  care  for  any  thing 
better  than  this  ?  "  glancing  around  the  cozy  room. 

"Because  I  want  life,  action,  work.  I  should 
petrify  here." 

"Do  you  call  dancing,  shopping,  and  having  a 
'  gay  winter,'  work  ?  " 

"There  is  more  than  dancing,  shopping,  and 
having  a  gay  time  in  the  city,"  I  answered.  "  There 
is  downright  work  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
there." 

"  "What  an  amount  of  energy  you  have  !  I  could 
never  dream  of  going  after  work,  it  would  be  bad 
enough  to  have  work  come  to  me." 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  You  are  only  half  a  man 
while  you  talk  so." 

"  It's  true,  Georgie,  I  am  only  half  a  man,  and  ray 
laziness  is  the  key  to  my  whole  life.  I  can't  get  out 
of  old  ways,  I  can't  break  through  old  customs.  I 
am  not  half  what  I  ought  to  be.  I  feel  all  the  time 
that  if  I  would  make  one  great  effort,  one  firm  wrench, 
and  stand  to  it,  I  could  do  an  immense  deal ;  but  the 
least  show  of  resistance  proves  too  much  for  me,  and  I 
give  up  rather  than  fight  the  battle." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  so  if  you  had  any  thing 
worth  fighting  for,"  I  suggested. 

"  I  have  something  worth  fighting  for,"  he  replied, 


A   STOEY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  63 

less  lightly  than  before,  "  which  would  make  me  in- 
deed a  true  and  happy  soldier  to  win.  I  see  others 
pressing  in,  I  do  not  wait  to  be  jostled  aside,  I  move 
away,  and  watch  others  win  the  prize  that  should  be 
mine." 

"  You^-e  a  good  for  nothing,  lazy  fellow,"  I  cried, 
"  and  you  will  have  to  suffer  for  being  so,  depend 
upon  it.  And  with  so  much  power  as  you  really  have 
if  you  ODly  knew,  and  would  use  it ! " 

"  Have  I  power  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  meaning  there 
was  no  mistaking. 

"Are  you  not  ashamed  to  ask  that  question,. 
Gilbert  Stuart?  Are  you  indeed  devoid  of  manli- 
ness ?  "  I  exclaimed  indignantly. 

"  I  think  I  am,  Georgie,  but  I  am  going  to  get 
righted  one  of  these  days.  Will  you  not  sing  for  me 
again  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered  coldly,  and  left  my  seat. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  sing  for  you,"  he  said,  gaily. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  I  returned  with  increased 
coldness,  and  leaned  back  in  my  chair.  I  had  never 
heard  him  sing,  and  did  not  suppose  he  could. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  manage  an  accompaniment," 
he  said,  after  striking  several  chords.  "  Will  you  not 
help  me?" 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  excuse  me,"  was  all  the  an- 
swer I  felt  it  in  my  power  to  give,  for  I  was  deeply 
hurt. 


64  AT  axchob: 

"Then  I  must  help  myself.  Please  listen  to  the 
words.  It  took  me  a  week,  nearly,  to  get  them  to 
jingle." 

I  did  not  hear  any  more  for  some  time,  and  was 
half  lost  in  reverie  when  a  rich,  deep  voice,  broke  in, 
or  rather  mingled  with  it,  singing  : 

"  Your  brow  is  set  with  woman's  pride, 

Your  eyes  refuse  a  melting  smile, 
But  oh !  how  check  the  heart's  strong  tide, 

That  rushes  wildly  311  the  while  ? 
How  cold  are  all  the  words  I  win ! 

And  colder  still  the  tones  I  loved, 
How  calmly  pale  that  once  bright  cheek 

Whose  color  each  new  feeling  moved ! 

"  I  may  not  even  speak  of  days 

O'er  which  I  brood  with  strange  delight, 
Nor  may  I  ask  the  simplest  grace, 

That  then  seemed  mine  by  true  love's  right 
But  vain  is  all  the  world  would  say, 

To  rouse  perchance  my  jealous  fears, 
I  bowed  not  to  that  gentle  heart. 

Till  I  had  known  its  truth  for  years. 

"  Ah  I  do  not  think  I  could  beUeve 

My  darling's  heart  less  true  than  then ! 
Ah  !  do  not  think  that  I  could  fear. 

Her  eyes  can  droop  for  other  men ! 
Though  never  in  this  world  again. 

One  of  the  dear  old  looks  I  win ; 
The  fault  be  mine,  but  to  distrust 

That  constant  heart,  were  gravest  sin. 


A   STORY    OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  65 

*  I  know  I've  wronged  that  faithful  heart, 

Half  failed  its  tender  worth  to  prize, 
And  I  to  whom  they  trusted  all 

Have  dimmed  with  tears  those  peerless  eyes. 
Too  many  are  the  ways  that  lead 

Our  rougher  manhood's  steps  aside, 
'Tis  thine,  sweet  eyes,  'tis  thine,  dear  hands, 

To  virtues  paths  our  steps  to  guide. 

*'  I  cannot  speak  of  all  I've  seen, 

Xor  how  each  gloomy  road  I've  past, 
But  made  thee  seem  the  brighter  still, 

And  led  me  to  thy  feet  at  last. 
I  cannot  speak  of  all  I've  erred, 

Nor  yet  of  all  I  fain  would  be. 
But  if  I  gain  a  place  above 

I  gain  it  love,  dear  love,  through  thee." 

"  And  now,"  rising,  and  coming  behind  me,  "  hav- 
ing completed  the  measure  of  my  enormities,  I  suppose 
I  must  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,  go,"  I  said  rising  in  my  turn ;  "  I  thought 
that  measure  was  completed  long  ago,  but  your  inven- 
tion is  wonderful,  and  I  know  not  how  many  new 
insults  you  may  have  in  store  for  me." 

"  Are  you  serious,  Georgie  ?  Make  me  so,  then ; 
make  me  forget  that  we  are  not  boy  and  girl  together 
still,  and  you  will  be  fully  avenged." 

"  I  have  forgotten  that  we  were  ever  boy  and  girl 
together.  For  the  future,  at  least,  I  am  not  to  be  other 
than  Miss  Vane  to  you." 


66  AT  axchoe: 

I  was  getting  him  in  earnest,  I  could  see. 

"  It  is  useless  for  me  to  beg  pardon  in  detail,"  he 
said.  "  If  I  ever  become  wholly  a  man  I  will  entreat 
it  all  at  once." 

"  With  the  full  expectation  of  being  forgiven  !  " 

"  I  expect  nothing ;  I  hope  but  little ;  I  deserve 
your  taunt,  nevertheless." 

He  turned  slowly  from  me,  irresolute,  it  seemed  to 
me. 

I  was  angry  enough  for  any  thing  then,  and  I  call- 
ed him  back. 

"  You  have  more  to  say,  ^ay  it." 

"  I  have  more  to  say,  but  I  cannot.  Some  time,- 
perhaps,  I  shall  be  serious,  earnest,  and  what  I  ought 
to  be,  now  it  makes  no  difference.  I  do  not  suppose 
you  will  believe  me  if  I  say  I  would  not  have  offended 
you  for  the  world." 

I  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  You  remember  what  you  told  me  one  night,  last 
summer.     Did  I  understand  you  rightly  ?  " 

He  bowed. 

"  It  is  the  same  now  ?  " 

He  bowed  again. 

"  And  yet  you  would  have  me  believe  you  have  a 
grain  of  truth  in  you ! " 

That  was  enough ;  if  he  had  forgotten  it  for  that 
hour,  it  was  only  to  make  him  remember  it  ever  after- 
wards. 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  67 

The  bright  light  in  the  hall  shone  full  on  a  face 
that  was  pale  and  full  of  sadness,  as  he  lingeringly 
prepared  to  leave. 

"  Good  night,  Miss  Vane,"  he  said  looking  into  the 
room,  but  not  at  me. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Stuart." 

I  could  not  realize  even  when  the  door  closed  be- 
hind him  that  he  would  not  come  back,  and  explain 
all  this  mystery,  and  win  the  forgiveness  that  was 
only  for  a  moment  out  of  his  reach.  It  was  harder 
still  to  think,  after  so  many  years  of  trust  and  faith, 
trust  and  faith  that  had  not  died  in  all  the  past 
months,  that  faith  and  trust  had  been  met,  not  only 
with  indifference  but  with  insults.  Even  yet,  such  is 
woman's  folly,  with  all  my  pride  I  could  find  excuse 
even  for  that,  could  believe  he  meant  more  than  he 
could  say. 

The  next  day  I  was  to  leave ;  I  had  seen  the  last 
of  him,  and  hope  was  over. 

And  then — Kate  ! 

Did  I,  therefore,  tear  him  out  of  my  heart  ?  Did  I 
blush  that  I  had  ever  yielded  him  a  moment's  thought  ? 
Did  I  place  hatred  and  contempt  in  the  place  where 
he  once  had  reigned  ? 

I  was  no  strong-minded  heroine.  I  was  a  strong 
woman,  perhaps,  but  strong  only  for  others ;  the  merest 
schoolgirl,  crying  over  her  first  love,  could  shame  me, 
weeping,  de  profundis,  over  mine.     I  was  no  strong- 


68  AT  anchoe: 

mjnded  heroine :  I  opened  the  great  door  softly,  and 
listened  for  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  splashing  down  the 
wet  pavement ;  I  found  myself  gradually  leaning  farther 
out,  until  the  rain  fell  around  me,  and  on  me,  listening 
still — holding  my  breath  to  hear  that  step  once  more. 
I  went  in,  when  I  could  no  longer  catch  even  its  faint, 
far  away  sound,  I  went  in  to  the  now  dull  room,  late- 
ly so  brilliant  with  his  presence.  I  stood  by  the  chair 
in  which  he  had  sat,  by  the  piano  at  which  he  had 
sung,  with  such  earnestness  and  pathos,  those  strange 
words ;  longing  to  caress  each  object  which  had  been 
blessed  by  his  touch.  I  took  my  basket,  just  as  he 
had  left  it,  with  its  notched  spools  and  twisted  rib- 
bons, and  locked  it  in  the  little  black  cabinet  where  I 
kept  my  letters  and  journal.  I  sank  down  on  the  floor, 
with  my  head  in  his  chair,  and  there  shrined  my  life's 
young  dream  in  my  heart,  as  a  blessed  memory,  a 
glimpse  of  heaven  before  the  celestial  gates  closed 
upon  me ;  I  buried  him  deep  down  in  my  heart,  never 
to  see  him,  with  lovelit  eyes,  until  the  appointed  day 
of  Love's  resurrection. 

I  might  well  go  to  my  room  that  night  as  from  a 
great  and  solemn  funeral. 


CHAPTER    Vn. 

Society  opened  its  arms  to  us,  affectionately  to 
my  uncle,  cordially  to  both.  Affectionately  to  my 
uncle,  for  there  was  not  a  silver  hair  among  his  curly 
locks,  not  a  glimmer  of  frost  in  his  abundant  whiskers, 
to  whisper  of  the  coming  winter  of  his  life ;  for  the 
which  be  praised  my  uncle's  own  immaculate  hair-dye. 
And,  too,  my  uncle  was  trim  and  lithely  made,  pre- 
serving the  happy  medium  between  superabundant" 
flesh  and  gout  on  one  side,  and  leanness  and  dyspepsia 
on  the  other ;  for  the  which  be  praised  my  uncle's  en- 
ergy, and  his  great,  warm  heart. 

Joined  to  these  rare  advantages  of  figure  and  whis- 
kers, my  uncle  had  a  still  handsome  pair  of  clear,  dark, 
youthful  eyes :  a  massive  nose,  of  the  Xew  England 
type,  which  just  intimated  there  was  a  rough  road 
somewhere  that  my  easy  uncle  Tom  might  have  trod ; 
a  good  voice,  excellent  taste,  and  his  own  teeth ;  so 
that  it  was  not  wonderful  that  in  long  parlors,  and  in 
crowded  halls,  Mr.  Yane's  person,  or  Mr.  Yane's  in- 
come— which,  by  the  way,  was  in  an  equally  flourish- 


70  AT   ANCHOR  : 

ing  condition — was  the  object  of  admiring  eyes  innu' 
merable. 

As  for  me,  though  I  had  none  of  these  latter  claims 
upon  society,  there  was  still  a  prospect  of  something 
from  my  uncle,  the  good  world  thought.  There  was, 
too,  a  lingering  remembrance  of  a  brilliant  heiress 
who  had  flitted  across  the  sky  of  society,  meteor-like, 
about  whom  there  had  been  a  story,  deejoened  into 
mystery  as  years  glided  onward  and  saw  no  more  of 
her,  until  a  daughter  came  to  revive  her  image,  and, 
thanks  to  a  wealthy  uncle,  to  raise  it  above  the  slan- 
derous tongue  of  envious  society.  A  little  mystery  is 
piquante  sometimes. 

I  am  not  writing  my  uncle's  biography,  or  I  should 
dwell,  half  with  amusement,  half  in  disgust,  on  the 
many  incipient  courtships  of  my  tender-hearted  uncle, 
during  that  gay  winter.  Incipient  courtships,  for  it 
was  not  in  the  power  of  my  generous  uncle  to  confine 
himsdf  for  more  than  a  few  evenings  to  any  one  pret- 
ty face ;  it  never  had  been,  hence  his  bachelorship. 

"  I  own  it,"  he  would  say ;  "  what  then  ?  Must  a 
man  make  himself  a  boor  for  the  sake  of  consistency, 
when  his  fickleness  makes  him  only  the  more  interest- 
ing to  others,  and  agreeable  to  himself?" 

Just  here,  in  speaking  of  my  uncle,  I  am  remind- 
ed— I  can  hardly  say  why — of  a  dear  and  honored 
friend,  who  once  said  to  me,  speaking  of  a  mutual  ac- 
quaintance, *'Do  you  know  the  secret  of  G.'s  worldly 


A   STOET   OF   OUE   CrS'IL   WAR.  Vl 

prosperity?  I  will  tell  you:  When  lie  was  about 
starting  on  his  worldly  career  he  came  to  me  for  ad- 
vice. '  My  dear  young  friend,'  I  said  to  him, '  life  and 
your  profession  are  not  all  made  of  roses,  as  you  will 
too  soon  find.  When  adversity  presses  hard  upon 
you ;  when  every  thing  is  dark  as  midnight,  without  a 
glimmer  of  hope  or  comfort ;  when  your  friends  look 
coldly  upon  you,  and  every  thing,  in  fine,  seems  driv- 
ing you  to  despair ;  go  then,  expend,  if  need  be,  your 
last  dollar,  and  buy  a  new  pair  of  light-colored  kid 
gloves,  and  put  them  on.'"  Therein  is  a  world  of 
meaning  associated  always  in  my  mind,  spite  of  the 
New  England  nose,  with'  my  uncle  Tom. 

And  we  two  lived  in  the  same  house,  eat  at  the  same 
table,  walked  arm-in-arm,  sat  side  by  side,  read  the  same 
books,  and  lived  our  separate  lives  !    So  goesthe  world ! 

I  cannot  understand  those  who  say  that  sorrow  or 
disappointment,  such  as  mine,  embitters  the  mind,  and 
sours  it  to  the  world.  The  power  I  had  for  loving, 
sent  back  upon  my  heart,  ran  no  longer  in  its  deep 
but  narrow  channel ;  it  diffused  itself  over  my  whole 
nature,  becoming  weaker,  perhaps,  by  the  diffusion, 
mingling,  as  it  did,  with  my  lighter,  less  noble,  every- 
day character ;  but  it  made  it  kinder,  more  charitable, 
more  generous  to  all  I  met.  I  did  not  hope  that  those 
loving  tides  could  ever  be  gathered  together  and"  se- 
cured in  their  old  sweet,  unseen  bounds.  So  I  lived 
for  society  as  best  I  could. 


72  AT  anchor: 

Feel  kindly,  friendly  to  humanity,  and  humanity 
rewards  you  by  its  efforts  to  appreciate  and  become 
worthy  of  your  regard.  It  is  only  the  selfish,  the  use- 
less, or  the  wicked  that  declaim  against  the  injustice 
of  mankind.  Just  it  seldom  is,  for  humanity  is  human ; 
but  it  does  its  best,  and  the  true  man  tries  in  other  ways 
than  angry  remonstrance  to  make  that  best  better. 

So  I  gathered  to  myself  many  a  heart-offering  from 
those  who  surrounded  me,  and  strove  here  and  there 
to  say  a  word  or  two  that  might  fall  in  the  right  place. 
I,  a  woman,  honor  women.  I  know  they  are  vain, 
frivolous,  extravagant,  and  capricious,  with  a  thousand 
faults  beside ;  but  I  honor  them  still.  I  say  nothing 
of  the  false  state  of  society,  the  folly  and  blindness  of 
parents,  the  flattery  of  friends,  that  make  them  what 
they  are.  Would  you  have  me  dash  my  head  against 
a  wall  ?  From  now  until  the  day  of  judgment,  I  veri- 
ly believe  young  girls,  fresh  and  sweet,  and  pui-e  and 
lovely,  with  the  dew  of  heaven  on  their  lips,  and  the 
music  of  angels  in  their  voices ;  with  holy  inspirations, 
saintly  virtues,  heavenly  dreams,  and  martyr  endur- 
ance sleeping  in  their  breasts,  waiting  the  time  for 
woman's  work  to  need  them,  will  be  led  like  lambs  to 
the  slaughter,  after  systemized  boarding-schools  and 
contentious  homes  have  labored  day  and  night,  by 
open  blows  and  concealed  undermining,  by  every 
power  known  to  man  or  woman,  by  appeals  to  every 
woman-fault  and  woman-enemy,  to  deaden  and  destroy 


A   STORY   OF   OUE   CIVIL  AVAE.  IS 

that  heaven-born  nature  before  its  first  sweet  slumbers 
are  broken.  We  may  write  books,  we  may  preach 
sermons,  we  may  deliver  lectures,  we  may  call  con- 
ventions and  establish  associations,  we  may  found 
nunneries,  and  our  reward  will  be  only  ridicule,  and 
fruitless  labor,  for  the  world  will  go  on  just  as  before, 
and  woman  will  dance,  and  sing,  and  make  merry,  for 
a  brief  season,  before  she  resigns  her  throne  for  the 
nursery;  because,  maimed  and  crippled,  spiritually 
and  physically,  she  has  not  found  that  both  can  be 
held  at  once.  From  the  patient  endurance,  the  tender- 
ness, the  unselfishness,  and  the  strength  for  which 
women  fight,  and  which  they  so  rarely  lose,  through 
all  the  power  and  skill  of  the  world,  what  may  we  not 
hope? 

I  honor  them  still,  these  very  girls — light,  vain, 
and  capricious — who  rattle  nonsense  till  youi-  head 
aches,  and  imagine  they  are  clever ;  these  very  girls 
who  would  measure  Tennyson  by  the  cut  of  his  coat, 
and  Browning  by  the  style  of  his  whiskers,  who  count 
men  and  women  by  their  dollars,  rather  than  by  their 
virtues,  these  very  girls,  aimless,  missionless  as  they 
seem,  are  panting  every  one  of  them,  like  tired  chil- 
dren, for  the  lost  path.  One  of  these,  delicate,  pam- 
pered, idle,  luxurious  as  they  are,  will  stand  by  your 
bedside  day  after  day,  night  after  night,  and  dream 
not  that  she  is  doing  any  thing.  Your  stout,  hearty 
brother  will  do  as  much,  perhaps,  and  you  can  never 
4 


74  AT  anchor: 

be  enough  grateful  to  him ;  a  few  sweet  words,  a 
loving  smile,  a  caress  more  tender  than  usual,  is  her 
utmost  reward.  One  of  these,-  weak,  silly,  thought- 
less as  they  are,  will  hnd  you  a  way  through  the 
labyrinth  of  cares  and  fears,  in  which  your  last  friend 
has  left  you,  hopelessly  ensnared.  One  of  these — what 
use  is  there  to  talk — neglected,  misled,  misunderstood — 
there  is  something  pure  and  good,  and  strong  in  the 
worst  of  them  all.  I  honor  them  still,  I  long  to  take 
them  in  my  arms  and  say :  "  Oh,  you  fi-ail  little 
creatures,  wandering,  like  lost  children,  on  false  paths, 
what  mighty  ways  you  might  tread  !  How  beautiful, 
how  great,  how  lovable  you  might  be,  if  you  would 
strive  not  alone  for  the  path  of  beauty,  but  of  strength 
and  goodness;  if  you  would  only  follow  the  divine 
light  not  yet,  never  extinguished  in  your  souls,  and 
make  it  a  halo  for  home  and  for  the  world,  a  fireside 
glow,  and  a  beacon  light ! " 

False,  but  so  unconsciously  false  to  themselves.  I 
love  and  honor  my  sex .;  and  when  I  see  one  bright,  and 
sweet,  and  good,  with  a  warm  heart,  and  cordial  hand, 
cherished  at  home,  honored  abroad,  bringing  sweet 
homeways  into  society,  and  grateful  social  charms 
into  the  home  circle,  then  indeed  have  my  eyes  beheld 
a  lovely  sight, 

And  in  this  spiiit  I  took  my  place  among  them, 
and  together  we  danced  through  one  gay  winter  in 
New  York,  while  my  uncle  grew  younger  and  gayer 


A   STORY   OP    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  75 

every  day,  and  was,  perhaps,  less  glad  than  I  when 
fashion  decreed  that  we  should  leave  the  dusty  city 
for  summer's  sweetest  home. 

Yet  I  did  not  like  the  prospect  of  another  summer 
in  L .  I  scarcely  knew  why,  and  my  uncle  read- 
ing my  half-formed  thought  proposed  a  tour  through 
the  East,  finishing,  as  in  duty  bound,  at  Saratoga, 
where  every  thing  was  as  it  always  is ;  crowded  hotels, 
brimming  over  with  flirts  and  fortune  hunters,  and  for 
the  rest  neither  interesting  nor  picturesque  in  any 
degree. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

There  comes  a  time  in  nearly  every  woman's  life, 
I  believe,  when  she  is  like  one  waiting.  She  is  not 
married,  perhaps  she  does  not  care  to  be  ;  she  has  no 
especial  work,  perhaps  she  does  not  desire  to  have ; 
she  has  no  particular  ambition  or  object  in  life,  perhaps 
does  not  know  where  to  seek  one.  It  is  a  trying 
time  ;  society  is  all  in  all  to  her  no  longer.  She  is  too 
unsettled  to  study,  not  knowing  the  need,  and  any 
straw  in  the  balance  may  turn  her  fate.  Great  mis- 
fortune, some  unexpected  change,  may  rouse  her  and 
decide  her  for  immense  good,  or  monotony  may  con- 
quer, and  she  turns  to  a  listless  routine,  from  which 
the  chances  are  few  that  she  will  ever  move. 

Such  a  time  had  come  to  me,  and  I  faced  it,  for  I 
knew  its  meaning.  Now,  or  never,  a  work,  a  mission,  a 
destiny,  or  a  placid  existence  made  up  of  books,  music, 
dancing,  and  embroidery.  I  tried  many  things.  I 
tried  to  write,  I  failed  totally;  I  hardly  know  why,  I 
had  education  enough,  and  my  imagination  had  enter- 
tained me  many  an  hour.     I  tried  charity,  but  I  mere- 


A   STOET   OF   OUR   CIYIL   WAR.  77 

ly  made  myself  notorious,  and  was  terribly  imposed 
upon.  I  tried  a  "  Young  Ladies'  Mutual  Improvement 
Society,"  but  the  third  meeting  ended  in  exchange  of 
embroidery  patterns  and  fashion  plates,  and  as  I 
would  not  lose  my  esteem  for  the  minds  of  my  friends, 
I  withdrew,  and  the  whole  thing  fell  to  the  ground. 
I  tried  teaching,  and  adored  it,  but  I  had  never  known 
confinement  and  my  health  gave  way — I  was  not 
sorry.  What  right  had  I,  with  a  happy  home,  to  take 
the  place  of  those  who  count  it  a  blessing  from  heaven 
to  find  a  place,  however  irksome,  in  which  they  could 
toil  and  earn  their  daily  bread  ? 

*'  I  wish  we  had  an  intriguing  court,"  my  uncle 
said,  "  and  troublesome  times.  You  would  be  in  your 
element  then." 

We  were  walking  down  Pennsylvania  Avenue  as 
he  spoke,  and  I  smiled  for  answer,  for  feet  on  desks, 
pocketed  hands,  and  tobacco-stained  mouths  had  not 
much  increased  my  admiration  of  the  rulers  of  this 
glorious  RepubKc. 

I  was  walking  in  my  Yankee  trust  and  simplicity, 
in  an  honest  road ;  how  strange  it  seems  to  me  now 
that  the  very  men  I  voted  past  redemption  dull,  were 
plotting  and  planning  over  their  wine,  with  a  skiU  and 
a  daring  for  which  history  furnishes  me  no  simile  ! 

We  turned,  my  uncle  and  I,  into  a  public  hall  to 
see  an  exhibition.  The  rooms  were  almost  empty,  but 
a  small  group  of  gentlemen  were  gathered  in  one, 


78  AT  anchoe: 

around  whom  the  few  passing  visiters  lingered,  ap- 
parently listening.  Uncle  Tom  was  in  some  manner 
drawn  aside,  and  as  I  stood  waiting  for  his  return, 
some  words  of  seemingly  eager  discussion  caught  my 
ear.  Presently  one  voice,  deep  and  impassioned,  fixed 
my  attention. 

"  A  little  more  of  this  indecision,"  were  the  first 
words  I  heard,  "  and  the  work  is  lost !  A  little  more 
ease,  a  little  more  pleasure,  and  every  thing  will  be 
gone  !  Is  there  no  strength,  no  energy  left  us  ?  Is  it 
a  few  words  here,  a  vote  or  two  there,  that  is  to  work 
out  our  salvation  ?  Is  it  now  and  then  a  man,  earnest 
and  willing  to  labor,  that  is  to  do  the  work  ?  " 

There  was  a  mingling  of  voices,  and  I  heard  no 
more  ;  but  something  in  the  voice  I  had  heard  haunted 
me.  I  really  hungered  for  it  as  I  wandered  aroimd 
the  building.  I  have  heard  stray  notes  of  music, 
passing  tones  that  have  lingered  with  me  in  the 
same  way,  but  this  was  intensified,  and  so  real  that  I 
gladly  saw  my  uncle  depart,  leaving  me,  with  many 
remonstrances,  behind.  I  cared  not  for  the  words,  I 
would  not  even  look  at  the  speaker,  but  I  would  go 
back  and  hear  its  music  again.  I  was  standing  near 
a  large  window,  the  crowd  was  whirling  by  beneath, 
rattling,  thundering  by,  but  it  did  not  prevent  my 
hearino-  and  distinofuishinor  the  voice  that  had  beguiled 
my  fancy  from  all  the  rest.  They  were  passing  me  on 
theii-  way  out  of  the  house ;  I  turned  slightly  toward 


A   STOKY    OP    OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  79 

them,  the  speaker  was  leaving  them.  I  turned  back 
to  the  window  just  as  you  do  when  a  sweet  song  is 
ended.  Some  one  stood  beside  me.  I  turned,  and  a 
pair  of  eyes,  so  blue,  so  bright,  so  glad,  so  tender, 
looked  into  mine,  that  I  received  their  gaze  as  if  all 
were  a  dream.  So  blue,  so  bright,  so  glad,  so  tender, 
that  I  can  never  forget  that  moment's  meeting. 

"  Am  I  forofotten  ?  Am  I  to  be  introduced,  and  be- 
gin  all  over  again  ?  "  It  was  the  voice  I  had  heard,  and 
though  the  tone  was  apparently  light,  there  was  a  deep- 
er earnestness  in  it  than  when  speaking  before.  The 
same  voice,  and  the  speaker  was  Carlton  Aberthnay. 

"  Forgotten  ?  "  I  repeated  dreamily.  "  No,  I  have  a 
vague,  indefinite  idea  of  having  met  you  somewhere 
"before — in  some  other  world,  perhaps.  It  seems  a  life- 
time since,  but  it  will  serve  for  an  introduction." 

"Take  my  arm,"  he  answered,  or  rather  asked, 
"  and  let  us  bring  up  the  books  for  that  lifetime ;  for  a 
new  lifetime  begins  now !  "  This  last  half  spoken, 
half  murmured,  wholly  exultant. 

So  arm  in  arm  we  paced  up  and  down  the  long 
rooms,  and  in  his  rich  voice,  his  radiant  beauty,  in  his 
joyous  words  I  found  such  pleasure  as  I  had  not 
known  for  many  a  day. 

"Ah,  I  have  been  roving  around  everywhere,"  he 
said,  answering  my  inquiries.  "  It  seems  rather  ab- 
surd to  talk  of  a  soldier's  life  in  such  times  as  these, 
when  our  easrle  looks  so  dovelike,  but  mine  has  been 


80  AT  axchob: 

almost  a  live  existence  these  two  years  past.  It  is 
quite  promising,  I  assure  you !  But  do  tell  me  by 
what  strange  chance  Mr.  Vane  was  ever  induced  to 
put  his  foot  into  this  city  of  abominations ;  has  he 
gone  into  politics  ?  " 

I  laughed  for  answer. 

"  O,  he  scorns  them,"  he  said,  interpreting  my 
laugh.  "  Don't  let  him  grumble,  then,  if  things  don't 
go  to  suit  him.  It's  a  burning  shame,  the  indifference 
with  which  Northern  men  let  the  '  vulgar  crowd '  set- 
tle all  affairs  of  state.  Why,  after  a  little  it  will  be 
highly  disrejHitable  for  a  respectable  man  to  hold  a 
government  office,  which  will  be  bad  for  us." 

"  Government  rolls  along  comfortably  enough,"  I 
answered.  "  I  can't  blame  men  like  imcle  Tom  for  be- 
ing unwilling  to  worry  about  its  incomings  and  out- 
goings so  long  as  it  comes  and  goes  as  prosaically  as 
at  present.  But  don't  let  us  waste  our  precious  time 
upon  subjects  so  unworthy.  I  am  more  than  disgusted 
with  Washington  already." 

"And  how  is  every  body  in  L ?  "  and  so  on, 

gossip,  small  talk  about  works,  paintings,  music,  men, 
and  women,  now  and  then  something  a  little  graver; 
so  our  talk  ran,  until  my  uncle  Tom  returned  for  me, 
and  as  Mr.  Aberthnay  was  of  old  an  exceeding  great 
favorite  with  my  uncle,  he  lacked  not  the  most  cordial 
invitations  to  become  almost  domesticated  with  us, 
invitations  which  were  most  quickly  accepted. 


A   STOKY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  81 

As  I  thought  now,  sometimes,  of  the  days  when  I 
had  looked  upon  Mr.  Aberthnay  as  a  lover,  it  seemed 
as  if  they  were  days  in  a  dream.  No  word,  no  look 
that  could  bring  back  that  time  ever  fell  from  him  to 
startle  me ;  and  enlivened  by  his  ever-animated  spirits, 
interested  in  his  plans,  as  no  one  who  heard  him  talk 
could  help  being,  I  soon  found  myself  yielding  to  the 
magnetism  of  his  cheerful  influence,  and  counted  every 
party  dull  of  which  he  did  not  make  a  part.  No  avo- 
man  will  believe  me  if  I  say  I  saw  with  pleasure  that 
he  had  overcome  his  boyish  fancy  for  me ;  no  one  will 
believe  me  if  I  say  I  saw,  with  unmixed  satisfaction, 
that  however  much  we  were  together  the  old  feeling 
gave  no  sign  of  reviving.  We  tell  these  men  to  for- 
get as  a  matter  of  duty,  but  we  are  not  expected  to 
see,  without  a  little  surprise  or  mortified  vanity,  how 
readily  they  obey  us. 

He  was  called  my  lover  everywhere :  there  are 
few  greater  annoyances  than  this  of  having  one's  name 
always  coupled  with  that  of  one  who  is  more  than 
friend,  and  less  than  lover;  to  whom  the  world  will 
positively  engage  you,  or  absolutely  demand  that  you 
shall  count  him  not  even  an  acquaintance. 

He  was  not  my  lover,  yet  I  knew  he  had  a  rever- 
ence for  me  that  I  had  never  seen  him  yield  to  any 
other.  I  knew  he  recognized  me  at  my  best,  with  a 
tender,   protecting,   manly    forgiveness    for    all    my 

weaknesses.     I  knew  if  he  did  love  me,  he  would  love 
4* 


82  AT  anchoe: 

me  as  I  had  fancied  I  loved  Gilbert — as  far  as  a  man 
conscious  of  his  manhood  can  so  love — as  if  mine  not  his 
were  the  greater  soul ;  an  unhappy  love  for  both  man  and 
woman,  for  it  is  her  sweet  right  to  lose  herbeing  in  his. 

One  day,  it  was  the  last  be/ore  I  was  to  leave  for 
our  summer  home,  there  had  been  a  meeting  of  influ- 
ential men,  apparently  for  social  enjoyment,  but  really 
for  graver  purposes.  My  uncle  and  Mr.  Aberthnay 
had  gone,  and  I  was  alone  nearly  all  day.  It  was  a 
restless  day,  warm  before  one  is  ready  for  warmth,  a 
day  with  summer's  languor  without  summer's  beauty, 
a  day  in  which  one's  life  hardly  seems  worth  fighting 
for.  That  day,  at  twilight,  after  the  meeting,  Carl- 
ton Aberthnay,  vnth  a  rush  of  words  which  I  could  not 
stay,  told  me  that  he  still  loved  me — not  timidly,  al- 
most hopelessly,  as  of  old,  but  powerfully,  determined- 
ly, with  a  love  that  would  never  cease.  Gently  he  told 
me,  but  terribly. 

I  could  but  beg  him  to  hush,  to  spare  me. 

"  Spare  you,  Georgie  ?  Is  it  so  dreadful  to  love 
and  to  know  it  ?     One  word — " 

"  IN'o,  no,  I  cannot  say  it."  I  moaned,  thinking  of 
his  pain,  and  the  wrong  I  had  done  him  in  letting  this 
thing  go  on. 

He  saw,  at  last,  my  heart  was  not  for  him ;  and 
when  he  saw  there  was  pain  beyond  any  maiden  coy- 
ness, he  stayed  his  words  of  entreaty,  asking  me  only 
to  tell  him  why  it  pained  me  so. 


A   STORY   OP   OUR   CIYIL  WAR.  83 

"  Because,"  I  answered,  "  because  I  should  have 
known  this ;  I  should  have  been  strong  enough  to  de- 
prive myself,  for  your  sake,  of  the  society  that  has 
been  so  pleasant  to  me." 

"  Do  you  imagine  you  could  have  done  any  thing 
to  change  me  ?  You  could,  indeed,  have  taken  away 
the  joy  of  being  with  you,  but  you  could  have  taken 
away  none  of  the  love  wherewith  I  have  loved  you 
from  the  first,  and  will  love  you  as  long  as  I  live  in 
this  world,  and,  if  God  so  permits,  in  the  next." 

"  I  must  not  listen  to  you,"  I  said.  "  I  am  inca- 
pable of  loving  any  one,  and  it  is  not  right  that  I 
should  hear  such  noble  words.  I  have  done  you 
wicked,  bitter  wrong;  you  should  do  nothing  but 
hate  me." 

"  I  can  do  nothing  but  love  you,  Georgie,"  he  said, 
"  but  love  you  and  reverence  you  all  the  days  of  my 
life.  Not  incapable  of  loving  !  do  not  say  that,  but  not 
loving  because  there  is  no  one  worthy  of  your  great 
heart.  I,  least  of  all ;  I  have  never  for  one  moment 
dreamed  myself  worthy,  but  I  did  dare  to  think  my 
love  for  you  might  make  me  less  unworthy.  I  have 
tried  to  think  if  I  knew  one  better  than  I  who  loved 
you,  could  I  stand  by  and  let  him  take  what  I  dared 
not  hope  to  win,  and  I  knew  I  could  not  do  it ;  I  must 
seek  you,  you  only.  But  do  not  look  so  frightened. 
I  love  you,  I  seek  you,  I  wait  for  you,  but  I  shall  not 
persecute  you,  in  word  or  thought ;  do  not  think  of 


84  AT  axchoe: 

me  as  of  one  sorrowing,  but  as  one  glad  to  have  loved 
you,  even  though  loving  in  vain.  This  is  all.  I  would 
not  25ain  you  for  the  world." 

Had  he  said  more  I  could  have  resisted  better;  but 
my  own  reproaches,  his  resolutely-suppressed  words, 
his  gentle  forbearance  to  probe  my  wound,  were  al- 
most more  than  I  could  bear. 

Soon  I  spoke  more  plainly,  telling  him,  not  that  I 
had  loved  any  other,  for  I  had  persuaded  myself  that 
I  had  not ;  but  that  deepest,  firmest  friendship,  was  all 
I  could  ever  give  him,  or  indeed  any  one.  Then  he 
plead  for  that  in  exchange  for  the  love  he  offered  me, 
and  I  strove  with  him  for  himself  against  himself,  im- 
plored him  not  to  let  me  weakly  consent  to  do  him 
this  terrible  wrong.  But  my  words  no  longer  availed ; 
and  so,  at  last,  wearied  with  the  day's  languor,  and 
listening  to  the  voice  that  pleaded  so  sweetly,  be- 
lieving I  could  make  him  a  true  and  trusty,  if  not  a 
fond  and  loving  wife,  I  choked  down  the  expostula- 
tions of  my  conscience,  and  the  forebodings  of  my 
heart,  and  became  Carlton  Aberthnay's  promised 
wife." 

"  Not  promised,"  he  said ;  "  nothing  more  shall  you 
promise  me  than  that  I  may  love  you,  may  be  near 
you,  may  live  in  the  light  of  your  presence.  I  will  not 
do  you  the  wrong  to  take  a  promise  so  urgently  en- 
treated, so  almost  forced  from  you.  But  I  will  love 
you,  I  will  follow  you,  I  will  live  for  you  until  such 


A   STOKY    OF   OUR   CIYIL   WAE.  85 

day  as  your  heart  turns  against  me;  and  then,  dearest 
Georgie,  do  not  hesitate  to  send  me  away." 

"  I  shall  never  send  you  away,"  I  answered ; "  so  long 
as  you  are  satisfied  with  that  which  I  told  you  is  yours, 
has  long  been  yours,  so  long  shall  I,  too,  be  yours." 

The  duty  was  less  wearisome  than  I  had  feared ; 
I  ground  down  my  conscience,  and  at  last  it  ceased  to 
reproach  me ;  I  began  to  forget  that  I  did  not  love 
Carl,  and  to  live  willingly,  eagerly  even,  in  his  love, 
his  ardent,  unselfish  love. 

Time  went  by  lightly  enough,  when,  sitting  under 
our  brave  Massachusetts'  elms,  I  poured  out  all  my 
thoughts  to  him  as  I  had  ncA^er  done  to  any  other. 
Often  and  often  had  I  longed  for  this  ;  a  manly  mind 
in  communion  with  my  own,  not  for  love,  but  cultiva- 
tion. His  letters  were  treasures  of  literary  taste,  and 
full  of  thoughtful  interest,  apart  even  from  the  unva- 
rying devotion  which  was  the  undercurrent  of  every 
thought  and  expression.  I  lived  in  the  varied  scenes 
through  which  he  passed;  I  felt  that  I  knew  those 
whom  he  met  and  cared  for,  and  scarcely  considered 
if  the  myriad  fancies  which  clustered  around  our  cor- 
respondence were  mine  or  were  his.  But  here  it  end- 
ed ;  mine  was  only  an  intellectual  pleasure  in  writing ; 
he,  poor  fellow !  opened  his  heart  and  showered  its 
wealth  of  love  on  me,  and  received  never  a  word  of 
love  in  return,  for  I  was  scrupulously  exact  in  all  I 
gave,  or  seemed  to  give.     With  his  native  delicacy  he 


86  AT  ANCHOR  I 

made  no  complaint,  although  it  must  have  pained  him 
deeply.  Once  he  wrote  me,  however :  "  Your  letters 
are  beautiful ;  were  they  not  even  from  you,  I  think  I 
could  never  tire  of  reading  them.  They  are  really 
works  of  art,  but  works  no  more  for  me  than  they 
might  be  for  any  other." 

And  again :  "  Among  all  these  fresh,  fragrant  flow- 
ers of  your  fancy,  what  unutterable  joy  if  there  should 
be  found  one  little  heart  blossom  that  had  bloomed  for 
me  only ;  one  leaf  or  bud  from  your  great  wealth  of 
such  to  be  worn  ever  in  his  heart  whose  life  is  in 
yours." 

Still  I  did  not  realize  the  yearning  which  thus 
murmured  to  me.  I  lived  in  a  cold,  selfish  mood, 
rather  proud  of  the  fervid,  romantic  Avay  in  which  he 
loved  me,  never  thinking  love  could  be  forced,  how- 
ever gently;  never  questioning  to  which  my  heart 
were  best  given,  never  straining  to  the  higher  soul, 
the  knightly  soulr  that  loved  me, "not  Lancelot  nor 
another."  I  was  startled  into  momentary  warmth 
only  when  I  was  obliged  to  feel  that  no  man's  love 
can  be  long  preserved  without  some  slight  hope  of  re- 
turn ;  clinging  to  Carlton  as  my  all  in  the  world,  this 
thought  always  frightened  me.  But  I  kept  even  that 
passing  glow  out  of  my  letters.  I  meant  to  be  just  to 
him,  and  never  to  deceive  him,  never  to  feign  what  I 
did  not  feel.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  to  feel  what  I 
would  not  feign. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

There  were  gay  times  when  "^liss  Georgie's" 
engagement  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  household. 
Kate  in  a  silk  so  stiff  that  her  every  motion  made  my 
headache,  came  down  especially  to  congratulate  me. 
Of  course,  she  had  known  all  about  it  all  along ;  she 
always  knew  I  liked  him ;  she  had  said  to  Mrs.  Glynn, 
"  Just  you  take  my  word  for  it,  i\Ir.  Aberthnay's  the 
man ;"  some  people  had  thought  that  I  was  going  to 
have  Gilbert  Stuart,  but  she  had  known  better,  she 
had :  I  was  never  going  to  be  a  farmer's  humdrum 
wife,  with  two  new  dresses  a  season,  and  one  silk  for 
Sundays,  not  I — I  was  no  such  fool  as  that — I  had 
played  my  cards  well,  Kate  thought,  had  got  a  real 
nice  husband,  and  now  she  had  only  to  hope  my 
wedding  dress  would  be  a  beauty.  And  then  to  think 
how  many  would  be  jealous,  and  what  Mrs.  Graham 
would  say  who  had  tried  so  hard  to  get  Mr.  Aberthnay 
for  Florence,  and  what  IVIr.  Stuart  would  say  who  had 
tried  so  hard  to  get  me.  The  hypocrite  !  If  she  but 
knew  how  well  I  understood  and  scorned  her  for  her 
duplicity ! 


88  AT  anchor: 

Mr.  Aberthnay  had  resigned  his  position  njDon  my 
uncle's  demurring  about  my  marrying  an  officer; 
officers,  you  know,  take  excellently  well  with  the 
ladies,  but  when  I  was  young,  guardians,  uncles,  and 
papas  had  a  holy  horror  of  the  army;  but  Mr.  Ab- 
erthnay's  resignation  removed  my  uncle's  only  shado'v 
of  objection,  and  as  I  could  raise  none,  our  marriage 
cards  were  ordered. 

I  went  down  to  L for  a  few  days  before  the 

time,  while  Kate,  who  was  to  be  my  first  bridesmaid, 
kept  house  for  my  uncle  in  New  York.  Kate  might 
well  congratulate  me  on  my  marriage,  for  she  was  to 
take  my  place,  a  snug  one  enough,  in  my  uncle's 
homestead,  as  she  had  already  taken  my  place  else- 
where. No,  not  that ;  she  could  never  fill  my  place  in 
either  caj^acity.  It  rained  nearly  all  the  time  I  was 
there,  dull,  dreary  November  storms ;  I  was  glad 
enough  to  leave  the  old  house  that  would  never  see 
Georgie  Yane  again.  Mrs.  Glynn,  the  housekeeper, 
would  not  let  a  thing  be  taken  from  my  room ;  it  must 
always  look  just  so,  she  said,  to  welcome  me  when  I 
came  home  for  my  visits.  "We  went  all  over  the  house 
together,  I  giving  her  some  little  memento  for  each  of 
the  servants,  until  we  came,  at  last,  bonneted  and  cloak- 
ed to  the  hall,  when  she  said :  "  Please,  Miss  Georgie, 
you've  been  so  good,  you've  remembered  all — even  poor 
Christy — there's  one  who  you  might  remember." 

"  Whom  ?  " 


A   STORY   or   OUR   CIVIL  WAR.  89 

"  Mr.  Stuart,  Miss  Georgie." 

Turning  toward  her  angrily,  I  answered :  "  I  have 
nothing  for  him." 

"  Oh  !  any  thing,  !Miss  Georgie,  that  I  could  give 
him  some  time  ;  I  needn't  say  you  told  me.  Miss." 

My  eyes  fell  wistfully  on  the  little  black  cabinet,  I 
even  put  the  key  in  to  open  it,  but  I  remembered. 
"  No,  Mrs.  Glynn,"  I  said,  rising  and  speaking  reso- 
lutely, "  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Aberthnay,  I  must 
not  think  of  any  one  else.  But  here,"  I  added,  taking 
off  a  ring  that  Mr.  Stuart  had  won  at  a  Fair,  years  and 
years  before,  and  given  to  me,  "  give  this  to  !Miss  Kate 
on  her  wedding-day.  Tell  her  Mr.  Stuart  gave  it  to 
me."     She  took  it  wonderingly. 

"  But  Mr.  Stuart — "  she  urged. 

"  I  hate  him  !  "  I  answered,  stung  by  her  persever- 
ance. "  I  hate  the  very  soimd  of  his  name  !  "  She 
sprang  toward  me,  holding  her  hand  before  my 
mouth,  a  freedom  which  startled  me  more  than  words 
or  shrieks  could  have  done.  I  saw  that  she  turned 
her  eyes  toward  the  parlor  door.  I  had  not  time  to 
ask  her  what  it  meant,  before  a  pale  face  passed  be- 
tween me  and  the  light. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  hear — "  he  began,  then  paused. 
"  You  are  quite  right,. Miss  Vane ;  I  did  not  know  you 
were  going  so  soon.  I  hoped  to  have  made  you  a  call 
earlier,  but  was  detained.  Shall  I  see  you  to  your 
carriage  ?  " 


90  AT  ANCHOR  : 

He  did  ;  for  I  had  no  power  to  move  or  speak.  He 
pushed  in  my  dress  gently,  closed  the  carriage  door, 
raised  his  hat,  and  the  carriage  moved  on. 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Glynn. 

"  Please  don't  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said  half 
crying,  "  I  always  fancied  you  had  a  liking  for  each 
other,  and  I  thought  may  be  at  the  last  minute  it 
would  come  round  ;  so  when  he  came  past  the  house 
this  morning  I  made  bold  to  speak  to  him,  and  to  tell 
him  you  was  going  away ;  he  said  perhaps  he  would 
find  time  to  see  you,  only  perhaps,  he  said,  you'd  be 
too  busy ;  but  I  said  no,  and  told  him  to  come  ;  but  I 
didn't  mean  no  harm,  only — " 

"  Life  isn't  a  novel,  Mrs.  Glynn,  and  I  hope  you  are 
convinced  now  that  Mr.  Stuart  and  I  do  not  care  for 
each  other  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss,  now  I  know,  but  I  didn't  used  to  think 
it  would  come  out  so." 

"  You  see  he  does  not  care  for  me,"  was  all  I  could 
say. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  I  seen  it  now ;  but  I  hadn't  then." 

"  What  did  he  come  up  to  the  house  for,  then,  if  he 
didn't  care  for  me,"  I  exclaimed. 

She  looked  at  me  amazed.  "  I  think  it  was  ray 
fault.  Miss  Georgie,"  she  answered ;  but  I  had  regained 
my  self-control,  and  said  no  more,  hating  myself, 
hating  her,  hating  him,  hating  all  the  world. 

But  it  was  different   when  Uncle  Tom   and  Mr. 


A  STOEY   OF   OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  91 

Aberthnay  met  me  at  the  depot,  as  glad  to  see  me, 
both,  as  if  I  had  been  gone  a  year.  My  trousseau  was 
almost  finished ;  Mrs.  Giddings  had  sent  for  more  lace 
for  my  dress,  and  Mrs.  Yarney  said  my  wreath  would 
be  superb — this  was  Kate's  greeting,  of  course. 

I  had  a  grand  wedding ;  my  uncle  looked  upon  it 
as  the  climax  of  his  life,  he  wouldn't  have  had  any 
thing  wanting  that  money  or  labor  could  get,  for  the 
world.  He  and  Kate  seemed  to  feel  very  much  more 
excited  about  it  than  we  who  were  the  most  concerned; 
indeed,  Kate  seemed  ever  on  the  point  of  thanking  me 
for  my  kindness  in  getting  married,  as  if  I  had  done  it 
all  on  purpose  for  the  gratification  she  found  in  fixing 
and  fussing  for  it. 

I  do  not  know  of  what  other  peoj)le  think  when 
they  are  about  being  married,  I  know  I  thought 
more  connectedly  of  the  fitting  of  my  dress,  the  trail- 
ing of  the  skirts,  the  falling  of  my  veil,  than  any  thing 
else ;  and  I  am  sure  if  Mr.  Aberthnay  had  told  me  the 
truth  about  his,  it  would  have  been  of  the  ugliness  of 
a  modern  man's  "  wedding  garments." 

At  last  I  was  dressed,  and  left  alone,  haunted  by 
an  undefined  dread,  nervous  and  restless. 

But  when  I  heard  Mr.  Aberthnay's  eager  step  on 
the  stairs,  knowing  that  he  had  come  for  me,  my  heart 
almost  failed  me.  He  came  in,  every  feature  radiant 
with  happiness. 

I  went  forward  to  meet  him,  holding  out  my  un- 


92  AT  anchor: 

gloved  hands  for  the  bouquet  he  had  brought  me, 
while  he  gazed  upon  me  with  pride  and  delight. 
Somehow  his  trust  and  happiness  shot  like  arrows  to 
my  heart. 

"  Oh,  Carl,"  I  said,  with  more  warmth  than  I  had 
ever  shown  him  before,  "  forgive  me  for  this  wrong  to 
you." 

"  Wrong  !  oh,  Georgie  !  Can  you  call  that  wrong 
which  makes  my  whole  life  a  song  of  thanksgiving  for 
my  unutterable  happiness  ?  I  am  not  worthy  that  you 
should  j^ermit  me  even  to  love  you — you,  my  peerless 
Georgie, — how  infinitely  less  worthy  that  you  should 
give  yourself  to  me,  to  be  mine,  all  mine,  darling 
Georgie,  forever  and  forever  mine  !  " 

"  Hush,  Carl !  Only  too  soon  you  will  find  that  I 
am  only  common  earth,  common  clay ;  and  you  will 
blush  for  shame  to  remember  that  you  ever  thought 
me  otherwise.  Only  too  soon,  Carl,  you  will  become 
tired  of  me,  reproach  me  for  my  coldness, — become 
negligent,  indifferent,  and  then,  Carl,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  me  ?  "  For,  with  it  all,  I  Avas  fearfully  jealous 
of  his  love ;  knowing  my  small  claim,  I  was  ever  in 
terror  of  losing  that  which  was  all  the  love  the  world 
had  for  me. 

"  Reproach  you,  my  pride,  my  joy,  my  love  !  How 
cruelly  you  judge  me !  Say,  Georgie,  do  you  think 
that  man  lives  who  could  woo  you  from  your  happy 
home,  where  every  love  and  care  were  lavished  on^ou. 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  93 

even  to  look  upon  you  with  less  than  unutterable 
gratitude  and  adoration  ?  Trust  me,  Georgie,  my  love 
is  warm  and  great  enough  to  shelter  you  forever. 
Every  day  it  must  increase,  for  every  day,  already,  I 
love  you  more  than  before.  Come  to  me,  then,  fear- 
lessly, Georgie,  as  to  one  who  only  prays  to  spend  his 
life  in  loving  you." 

"  You  Avill  tii-e  of  that,  Carl ;  and  how,  then,  can  I 
keep  you — I,  who  am  so  cold,  so  undemonstrative? 
Oh,  no,  Carl,  it  must  not  be.  I  cannot  return  you  any 
thing  worthy  of  your  great,  boundless  love." 

"  It  wishes  no  return,  dearest  Georgie,  save  your 
own  free  return.  Is  it  not  of  itself  happiness  beyond 
words  to  be  with  you  always,  and  to  love  you  al- 
ways ?  " 

"  Always !  "  I  repeated,  clinging  to  him,  whose 
caresses,  in  a  few  hours  I  could  no  longer  refuse. 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  fondly ;  "  when  the  blessed 
words  are  spoken,  God  will  turn  your  heart  to  me,  and 
we  shall  be  forever  happy." 

My  conscience  was  not  satisfied,  my  fears  were  not 
calmed ;  the  more  he  told  me  of  his  love  the  more  I 
longed  for  it,  trembled  to  lose  it,  and  yet  felt  my  own 
unworthiness.  I  felt  old  in  the  ways  of  the  heart, 
feeling  like  one  who  takes  from  a  child  his  fresh,  trust- 
ing innocence. 

Looking  down  on  me,  he  seemed  startled. 

"  Georgie,"  he  said,  "  tell  me,  are  you  forcing  your- 


94  AT  ajstchoe: 

self  to  this  ?  It  is  not  too  late.  Georgie,  fear  not  to 
answer.  Would  I  not  die  here  at  your  feet,  and  count 
it  bliss  so  to  die,  rather  than  cause  you  one  instant's 
pain  ?  Would  I  accept  any  haj^piness  at  the  cost  of 
a  pang  to  you  ?  And  perhaps  it  is  better ;  who  can 
tell  into  what  sorrow  and  pain  I  am  leading  you? 
who  can  tell  what  shadows,  dark  and  heavy,  may 
gather  around  the  home  to  which  I  take  you  ?  Oh, 
Georgie,  I  have  not  dared  think  before  that  even 
blood  and  death  may  fall  to  my  lot,  for  you  to  share 
with  me.  Xow  that  I  feel  how  dear  you  are,  I  trem- 
ble before  the  thought.     How  I  have  wronged  you  ! " 

This  was  enough;  I  shrink  from  danger  or  grief! 
I  fear  to  breast  life's  angriest  wave  by  my  husband's 
side  !  If  there  were  storms  ahead,  then  well  for  him 
to  have  the  one  he  loved  by  him.  "  Danger  or  sorrow 
will  but  bind  us  the  closer,"  I  said,  and  hid  my  face 
against  his  heart,  pressed  his  hand  firmly  in  mine,  and 
when  I  looked  at  him  again  every  shadow  had  passed 
away,  his  eyes  were  misty  with  unshed  tears  of  joy, 
and  his  lips  trembled  with  gratitude. 

And  so  we  went  down  through  the  long  line  of 
bridesmaids  and  attendant  grooms  ;  went  on  until  we 
stood  before  the  high  altar  in  the  crowded  cathedral, 
— in  the  crowded  cathedral,  fragrant  with  the  choicest 
flowers,  brilliant-  with  myriad  lights,  melodious  with 
the  richest  music. 

The  last  echo  died  away,  every  breath  was  hushed 


A  STOBT   OF   OUR   CIVIL  WAE.  95 

as  the  words  were  spoken.  His  deep  "  I  will "  rolled 
on  my  ears  terrible  as  some  loud,  prolonged  thunder- 
peal. My  own,  spoken  low  and  firm,  they  told  me  af- 
terwards, sounded  to  me  as  if  echoed  by  a  thousand 
mocking  voices.  But  the  words  were  spoken,  there 
was  no  recall,  and  we  went  down  the  long  aisle  man 
and  wife. 


CHAPTER  X. 

It  was  hard  to  see  my  poor  Uncle  Tom  breaking 
down  at  the  last,  and  pushing  me  into  the  carriage 
with  something  between  a  blessing  and  a  jest ;  harder 
still  to  hear  Kate's  violent  professions  of  sorrow  and 
affection ;  but  I  forbore  resistance,  letting  her  have  it 
her  own  way,  w^ondering  if  she  fancied  I  could  be  so 
easily  deceived.  All  the  partings  came  to  an  end,  at 
last,  and  Carl  and  I  departed. 

We  went  down  to  the  plantation,  and  lived  hap- 
pily as  might  be.  More  loving  and  more  tender  bride- 
groom could  not  be.  Every  luxury  that  the  most 
boundless  devotion  could  devise  was  lavished  upon  me 
by  him,  who,  though  my  husband,  was  still  my  lover. 

There  were  all  the  novelties  of  Southern  institu- 
tions to  interest  me, — the  freedom  of  Southern  life  to 
employ  my  energy,  curiosity,  and  love  of  scenery; 
while  each  particular  negro  seemed  a  "  character "  to 
my  unaccustomed  eyes. 

Nothing  at  first  struck  me  more  forcibly  than  the 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  97 

wonderful  capacity  of  the  negroes  for  enjoyment. 
Notwithstanding  their  hard-working,  aimless  lives,  so 
burdensome  as  to  seem  calculated  to  deaden  every 
spark  of  spiiit  within  them,  they  entered  with  the  zest 
of  children  let  loose  from  school  into  all  the  festivities 
desisrued  to  celebrate  their  master's  marriage.  Never 
shall  I  forget  my  first  sensations  as  their  dark  faces 
suddenly  appeared  before  me,  intent,  no  doubt,  on  no 
thought  but  a  fair  look  at  the  new  "  missus,"  but 
seeming  to  me  ominous  of  shadows  and  clouds  in  my 
new  home. 

I  could  not  enjoy  their  hilarity ;  it  was  to  my  views 
so  forced,  so  soulless,  and  unnatural.  All  shams  were 
and  are  alike  to  me ;  no  clown  ever  aroused  my  laugh- 
ter,— no  circus  antics  ever  gave  me  any  feeling  but  of 
pain  for  the  performers ;  and  so  now  I  breathed  freer 
when  there  came  an  end  to  the  "  festivities,"  that  is, 
the  well-arranged  farce,  in  which  the  exj)ert  manager 
exhibits  his  sable  troupe  for  the  especial  edification  of 
benighted  Northerners  visiting  the  sunny  South,  who 
seeing,  return  and  write  ponderous  volumes  about  the 
gay  and  affectionate  negro,  as  seen  in  the  charming 
light  of  the  patriarchal  system.     We  know  better. 

They  are  a  sensitive  race,  these  jDOor  black  slaves, 
quick  to  see  through  your  actions  and  your  motives, 
through  your  mask  to  your  heart;  and  although  I 
treated  them  with  uniform  consideration,  never  over- 
working them,  never  letting  them  suffer  for  any  care 


98  AT  anchor: 

in  health  or  sickness,  never  speaking  harshly  to  them, 
never  even  raising  my  voice  in  sternness  to  them,  I 
found  they  loved  me  not  half  as  well  as  they  would 
others,  whom  I  myself  have  heard  talking  to  them 
with  a  vehemence  which  would  shame  our  sharpest 
tongued  northern  virago  ;  and  not  only  talking^  but  I 
have  seen  fail'  and  gentle  women,  soft-eyed,  sweet- 
hued,  angelic-seeming  women,  like  the  blue-eyed  hero- 
ines of  men's  novels,  redden  their  lily  hands  by  re- 
peated applications  to  dark,  offending  faces,  in  spite  of 
which  the  affectionate  victims  are  ever  ready  to  sacri- 
fice theii*  lives,  their  all  on  earth,  to  them,  to  these 
same  relentless  persecutors. 

My  husband  only  smiled  at  the  horror  these  "  fair 
ladies'"  conduct  excited  in  me.  My  husband,  who 
would  have  forgiven  me  any  crime  U230n  earth  sooner 
than  an  unfeminity ;  who  would  have  aA^oided  as  he 
would  a  scorpion,  the  daring  woman  who  stepped 
enough  from*  her  sphere  to  be  observed,  to  be  criti- 
cized, to  be  lauded  even ;  with  his  delicate,  sensitive, 
refined,  fastidious  nature,  smiled  at  the  things  which 
would  have  turned  away  the  roughest  northern  farm- 
er !  It  was  the  inevitable  consequence  of  the  "  insti- 
tution," he  said  ;  "  the  women  were  as  kind-hearted 
gentle  creatures  as  need  be ;  the  thing  was  necessary ; 
a  negro  takes  to  whipping,  he  don't  know  how  to  get 
along  without  it." 

That  might  be ;  but  no  lash  fell  on  woman's  shoul- 


A    STORY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  99 

ders,  no  hard  words,  no  harsh  voice  on  any  ear,  while 
I  was  their  mistress.  My  conduct  was  actuated  by  the 
pride  and  self-respect  which  scorned  to  insult  those 
who  were  beneath  insult  and  beyond  the  power  of  re- 
sentment, and  in  due  time  they  came,  meekly  as  lambs, 
under  my  government,  fearing  my  quiet  voice  as  much 
as  they  feared  the  cellar  or  the  lash.  My  heart  never 
warmed  to  them.  I  knew  it  was  our  own  sin  which 
had  brought  them  there,  our  own  sin  which  we  must 
expiate  in  tears  of  blood ;  but  I  could  not  forgive 
them  that,  innocently,  they  had  caused  the  sin.  They 
felt  this,  they  knew  my  heart  was  sealed  to  them,  poor 
creatures,  watching  my  every  movement  with  a  painful 
desire  to  anticipate  my  every  wish.  One  who  had 
governed  them  in  the  same  way  from  kindness  instead 
of  pride,  would  have  been  almost  as  a  goddess  to 
them,  led  as  they  are  blindly  by  their  hearts,  out  of 
which  the  warmth  never  dies. 

But  beyond  all  horrors,  and,  Yankee-bred,  I  found 
plenty,  was  that  inspired  by  my  first  sight  of  the  field- 
hands  as  they  came  slowly  in, — men  and  women  to- 
gether, staggering  from  heat  and  exhaustion,  the  lat- 
ter scorning  to  moan,  though  visibly  almost  sinking  to 
the  ground ;  a  stern,  morne  set  of  women,  looking  as 
if  they  had  become  too  hard  even  to  curse  their  fate. 
I  felt  something  like  sympathy  for  them,  standing  up- 
right, upheld  by  innate  strength,  statue-like,  awaiting 
each  her  turn  to  have  her  work  weighed  and  her  day's 


100  AT  axchoe: 

toil  ended,  to  be  free  to  throw  themselves,  like  logs, 
upon  the  floor,  mnttering  now  and  then  a  hitter  oath 
or  two  before  they  turned  sullenly  to  the  wall.  I 
went  down  to  them  and  spoke  to  them  as  one  woman 
to  another.  I  could  do  it  easily  to  them,  easier  than 
to  many  a  fair  white  lady  in  her  beauty  and  wealth. 

"  Carl,"  I  said,  one  night,  "  you  must  not  have 
women  work  on  the  plantation.     It  is  cruel." 

"They  only  work  when  we  are  pressed,  and  are 
worth  as  much  as  the  men." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  theii'  worth,  but  of  your 
humanity." 

"  Nonsense,  Georgie  ;  you  must  get  these  Yankee 
ideas  out  of  your  head,  or  they  will  make  you  trouble. 
Nobody  on  my  plantation  has  much  to  complain  of. 
Grimes  says  the  rascals  are  as  fat  and  lazy  as  the  day 
is  long.  I  am  not  a  hard  master.  Will  not  every 
slave  I  have  tell  you  there  is  no  easier  master  than 
theirs  for  miles  and  miles  around  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  not  other  men's  actions  that  you  should 
take  as  a  standard,  but  your  own  sense  of  right.  It  is 
an  outrage  ujDon  Christianity,  upon  human  nature  it- 
self, to  allow  a  woman  to  work  at  such  labor,  under 
the  burning  sun,  and  your  barbarian  overseer." 

^'  Forever  down  upon  poor  Grimes  !  Why,  Georgie, 
you  ought  to  have  unqualified  admiration  for  him ;  he 
is  a  countryman  of  yours,  that  is,  a  New  Englander. 
He  gets  more  work  out  of  those  lazy  fellows  than  any 


A   STOEY    OF    OUJJ   CIVIL    WAR.  101 

other  OYCi-secr  in  the  county,  beats  us  Southerners  all 
hollow." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  A  l^orthern  man,  bred  to 
Northern  morality,  never  sinks  to  such  dirty  work 
until  he  has  thrown  away  all  ideas  of  civilization  and 
decency." 

"  You  are  hard ;  but,  come,  have  one  of  Jack's 
cobblers,  and  let  the  niggers  go  ;  too  hot  a  subject  for 
such  a  confounded  hot  day." 

"  But  I  cannot  let  it  go,  Carl ;  I  cannot  sleep  while 
those  hard  faces  are  .in  my  mind  ;  they  perfectly  haunt 
me.  I  sujoposed  it  was  only  the  Legres  who  had  such 
assistants." 

"  You  are  too  kind-hearted  Georgie." 

"I  am  not  kind-hearted.  I  come  to  you  in  the 
extremity  of  dread ;  I  cannot  dare  to  think  of  peace 
here  or  hereafter,  while  such  things  go  on.  Do,  Carl, 
for  my  sake,  if  not  for  a  better  motive,  send  away 
Mr.  Grimes ;  let  the  women  leave  out-of-door  work  to 
the  men,  and — " 

"  You  and  I  take  to  farming, — eh,  wifey  mine  ?  " 

"  You  shan't  laugh  at  me,  Carl." 

"  And  you  sJiarCt^''  mimicking  my  broad  Yankee  «, 
and  laughing  up  to  my  eyes.  "  And  you  shan't  worry 
me  about  these  things.  There  isn't  such  a  long  life 
before  me,  that  I  can  afford  to  lose  one  sweet  minute 
in  any  thing  but  happiness  with  my  queen  of  wives. 
Hush !  not  a  word.     I  am  too  good-natured  and  lazy; 


102  AT   ANCHOR  I 

the  first  I  kDOw,  you,  with  your  terrific  Yankee  energy 
and  vim^  will  prove  a  perfect  despot  over  me." 

"  You  shall  not  turn  me  away,"  I  answered ;  "  I 
am  not  going  to  be  put  off  with  pretty  speeches  ;  I  am 
in  earnest,  speaking  from  my  heart." 

"  "VYell,  Georgie,  I  do  not  doubt  that  many  things 
strike  you,  a  stranger  to  our  ways,  as  rather  hard, 
more  especially  as  just  now  we  are  in  such  a  state  that 
we  have  to  work  things  harder  than  ever  before ;  but 
when  you  know  us  better,  you  will  see  that  we  do  our 
best  considering  the  circumstances.  Fancy  now  that 
I  should  do  as  you  ask  me,  and  you  know,  Queen 
Georgie,  there  is  nothing  that  you  could  ask  that  it  is 
not  happiness  for  me  to  do,  if  it  is  only  in  my  power ; 
fancy  now  that  I  should  in  this,  our  busiest  season, 
send  away  Mr.  Grimes  and  release  those  few  women, 
what  would  be  the  consequence?  In  place  of  the 
women  for  whom  there  is  no  other  possible  work,  I 
should  have  to  get  some  more  men,  which  is  a  thing 
out  of  the  question, — ^I  cannot  afford  it.  Xext  I  should 
have  to  find  a  successor  to  Grimes,  no  easy  matter, 
and  all  the  time  spent  in  searching  so  much  time  lost ; 
the  best  I  could  get  would,  I  am  certain,  be  so  much 
inferior  to  him,  that  half  a  dozen  extra  hands  would 
not  more  than  make  up  the  difference.  When  times 
come  better  and  things  get  easier,  you  will  not  have  to 
ask  this  twice ;  but  now  it  will  not  do.  Grimes  is  a 
good  fellow ;  he  knows  I  would  discharge  him  in  an 


A   STOKT    OF    OUK   CIYIL   WAR.  103 

hour  if  lie  "was  cruel  to  the  hands ;  he  is  a  thorough 
and  a  superb  manager ;  he  takes  a  world  of  care  off  my 
shoulders ;  so  let  us  leave  him  to  get  things  through  in 
his  own  way ;  and  now,  Georgie — 


-'  Since  in  wailing 


There's  naught  availing, 
But  death  unfailing 

Must  strike  the  blow ; 
Then  for  this  reason, 
And  for  a  season, 

Let  us  be  merry  before  we  go !' " 

"But,  Carl,"  I  urged,  "what  do  we  want  of  so 
much  nioney?  Do  you  suppose  I  want  useless  fine 
things  obtained  by  money  coined  out  of  the  tears  of 
my  own  sex." 

"  If  there's  one  thing  that  I  hate  more  than  an- 
other," interrupted  my  husband,  "  it  is  to  hear  you 
call  those  black  beings  of  your  sex.  Let  me  implore 
you  to  spare  me  that  pain.  You,  the  very  perfection 
of  beauty,  grace,  and  intellect !  God's  fairest,  proud- 
est, noblest  handiwork,  and  those .     There's  your 

]N'orthern  cant — '  Am  I  not  a  man  and  a  brother  ? ' — 
good  enough  for  your  Garrisons  and  your  Phillipses, 
but  thorough  cant — what  man  or  woman  of  those 
abolitionists  ever  meant  a  word  of  this  ?  I  hate  cant ; 
but  I  answer  your  question,  '  What  do  we  want  of  so 
much  money  ? '  Georgie,  we  have  a  use  for  all  our 
money,  which  it  would  make  your  blood  cold  to  hear. 


104  AT  axchoe: 

*  Coined  out  of  tears,'  you  say, — it  \vill  be  coined  out 
of  better  life-blood  than  that  of  black  slaves  one  of 
these  days.  But  not  yet,  j^erhaps  never  ;  do  not  think" 
of  it.  Forgive  me,  darling  Georgie,  if  I  seem  unkind 
to  you, — you,  who  are  dearer  than  life  itself;  but,  trust 
me,  I  am  not  hard-hearted,  and  what  I  can  do  for  my 
slaves  I  am  glad  to  do ;  but  to  make  any  change,  how- 
ever slight,  in  their  condition,  might  endanger  more 
than  my  property." 

"How  so,  Carl." 

"  A  certain  set  of  men  in  the  South,  Georgie,  in 
order  to  j^reveut  the  people  from  being  disgusted  with 
slavery,  and  to  keep  the  South  united  in  one  interest, 
in  order  to  further  their  own  ends,  social  and  political, 
have  taken  advantage  of  the  Xorthern  detestation  of 
slavery,  and  the  imprudent  expressions  of  a  certain 
set  of  fanatics  at  the  Xorth,  to  make  our  people  jeal- 
ously, morbidly  sensitive  on  the  subject  which  is  our 
perpetual  bone  of  contention.  Lately  it  has  become 
imperative  on  us  to  be  as  one  man, — this,  our  common 
interest,  is  the  tie  that  binds  us  in  sjDite  of  all  opposing 
thoughts  and  feelings ;  we  have  been  worked  up  on  the 
subject  more  assiduously  than  ever,  and  now  it  is  not 
safe  for  one  to  do  a  humane  or  Christian  act  toward 
his  slaves,  especially  if  he  is  known,  like  me,  to  have 
a  Northern  education  and  a  brave  Xorthern  wife; 
my  smallest  act-  would  be  magnified  into  an  enormous 
abolition  tendency,  the  crime  of  crimes  do-svn  here." 


A    STORY    OF    OUE    CIVIL    WAR.  105 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  this,  Carl.  I  thought  we 
lived  in  a  free  country." 

"  Xot  yet ;  but  we  shall  make  it  so ;  the  hour  is 
almost  at  hand." 

"  Carl,  I  do  not  wish  to  penetrate  your  secrets,  but 
let  me  entreat  you  to  beware  lest  your  enthusiasm  and 
love  for  your  own  section,  may  be  used  to  make  you  a 
tool  in  the  hands  of  ambitious  and  designing  men." 

"  A  tool !  Do  I  look  like  it  ?  No,  Georgie,  w^her- 
ever  your  husband  goes  he  goes-  as  a  leader,  be  sure  of 
that.  I  do  not  go  into  any  thing  blindly ;  this  is  no 
new  thing,  we  have  been  brought  up  to  it,  to  work  for 
*  Southern  rights.'  You  are  amazed ;  you  remember 
our  conversation  at  your  uncle's?  I  did  not  know 
then  how  m^uch  of  reality  there  was  in  what  I  said. 
You  laughed  at  me  for  a  dreamer  then — so  would  all 
your  Northern  friends;  they  have  been  too  busy 
making  money  up  North,  to  think  what  we  were 
doing  here  ;  too  much  elated  with  their  annual  fleecing 
of  the  Southerners  to  see  that  we  were  not  the  easy 
fools  we  seemed." 

"  Carl,  you  terrify  me." 

"  It  is  that  which  terrifies  me.  Oh  !  Georgie,  if 
any  thing  should  happen  and  you  an  exile  from  your 
early  home,  turned  against  this,  and  hating  me,  hating 
the  fate  which  brought  us  together,  perhaps  !  Oh, 
Georgie,  how  easily,  how  cheerfully,  how  proudly  I 
could  brave  the  world  and  death  itself  if  you  but  felt 
5* 


106  AT  Anchor: 

with  me,  but  sent  me  forth  with  your  smiles  and  your 
blessings." 

"Whatever  you  do,  Carl,  so  it  be  nothing  un- 
worthy yourself,  I,  if  you  care  for  my  poor  prayers, 
shall  never  cease  to  give  them." 

"  Bless  you  for  that !  But  how  can  I  ever  hope  to 
convince  you  of  the  justice  of  our  cause  while  your 
Xorthen  education  and  your  Xorthern  prejudices  force 
you  to  see  only  that  which  is  misled  or  mistaken  m 
our  lives  ?  How  can  I  show  you  the  South  as  I  see 
her,  to-day  writhing  under  the  heel  of  the  Xorth,  to- 
morrow baptized,  it  may  be,  in  blood  and  tears,  rising 
resplendent  to  her  proper  throne,  radiant  and  pure, 
mistress  of  herself,  queen  of  the  far  West  ?  " 

"  Xever,  Carl.  I  see  no  picture  of  the  kind.  I  see 
only  that  you,  my  husband,  are  following  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp  to  worse  than  death.  Of  what  can  you  com- 
plain ?  The  North  for  all  its  superior  strength  and 
talent,  for  all  its  greater  power  and  position,  is  ever 
ready  to  kneel  in  the  dust  for  you.  Our  Government 
has  long  been  in  your  hands;  we  helped  you  elect  the 
present  President  on  purpose  that  no  Xorthern  in- 
fluence should  be  used  against  you ;  he  is  bound  by 
his  office  to  administer  his  goveniment  fairly  and 
unpartially,  knowing  no  Xorth,  no  South.  Has  he  done 
so  ?  Who  has  a  right  to  complain — you  or  the  ]S"orth  ? 
You  give  us  our  Presidents,  we  say  humble  thanks ; 
you  dictate  our  policy,  Ave  kiss  your  hands ;  you  fill 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  .107 

our  places  in  the  Cabinet,  in  the  Army,  at  West  Point, 
we  are  duly  grateful,  and  now  we  are  in  the  dust  cry- 
ing to  you — '  what  more  can  we  do  ? '  You  your- 
selves laugh  at  us  for  our  servility,  and  dictate  to  us 
with  all  the  arrogance  of  contempt.  What  moi-e 
would  you  have  ?  " 

"  That  may  be  as  you  say,  Georgie,  but  it  does  not 
suit  us.  The  ISToith  outnumbers  us,  any  day  that  it 
chooses  to  unite  against  us  we  are  lost.  But  let  us 
once  become  free  of  her,  free  to  stretch  our  empire,  and 
then  ! " 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"Why,  then,  we  shall  become  a  great  Southern 
Republic,  and  Madame  Xorth  will  have  to  be  on  her 
good  behavior." 

"Like  the  prodigal  you  want  your  share  of  the 
substance,  and  freedom  to  go  off  on  your  own  hook 
awhile  ?  Don't  try  it,  Carl,  or  you  may  search  in  vain 
even  for  the  husks  of  the  corn  which  the  swine  did 
eat.  Reflect,  it  is  not  one  man  who  goes,  nor  ten,  nor 
a  thousand,  it  is  the  Union  that  is  a  Union  no  longer ; 
and  the  sin,  a  terrible  one,  will  be  on  your  own  heads." 

"  I  deny  any  wrong  about  it.  If  South  Carolina, 
or  any  other  State  which  of  her  own  choice  went  into 
the  Union  of  her  own  accord  goes  out  of  it,  my  duty 
to  her  requires  that  I  go  with  her." 

"  Is  not  Calhoun  dead  yet,  or  is  it  that  the  '  evil 
men  do  lives  after  them?'     It  ryiay  do  for  some  to 


108  AT   ANCHOE. 

deny  that  our  Union  is  a  nation,  but  it  scarcely  does 
for  you,  Carl,  a  commissioned  officer  of  the  United 
States,  educated  by  her  to  whom  you  have  sworn 
allegiance,  to  plead  any  States  Rights'  sophistry. 

"  I  have  resigned  my  position  in  the  United  States 
Army ;  when  I  again  take  up  the  sword  it  will  be  as 
the —  "  he  paused. 

"  As  the  enemy  of  the  Government  to  whom  you 
are  indebted  for  that  sword ! "  I  added. 

He  did  not  seem  pleased.  I  did  not  imagine  my 
words  were  so  little  wide  of  the  truth. 

"  Let  us  be  happy  while  we  can,  Georgie,"  he  said. 
"  Leave  arguing  to  your  cousin  Kate,  and  tune  your 
voice  to  the  music  of  which  I  can  never  tire,"  and  he 
sent  me  to  the  piano. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Days  came  and  went ;  dull  days ;  little  to  do,  lit- 
tle to  see,  little  to  read.  I  tried  to  interest  myself  in 
the  new  scenes  around  me,  but,  the  summer  gone,  my 
heart  pined  for  the  white  fields  of  snow  the  ice-hung 
trees,  and  the  clear,  cold  starlight  of  dear  Xew  Eng- 
land— ever  dear,  but  never  so  dear  as  when,  sitting  in 
my  own  new  home,  my  hands  clasped  so  as  to  conceal 
the  wedding-ring,  memory  brought  back  the  rosy 
skaters,  the  merry  sleigh-bells,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
boys  dashing  down  the  hills  on  their  swift  sleds,  which 
had  so  often  aroused  my  mirth  at  home;  at  home, — 
would  any  place  ever  seem  like  home  to  me  again ! 
Thinking  of  the  old  days  when  a  bright,  somewhat 
hoydenish  girl,  I  tramped  through  the  snow  to  school, 
made  snow  men,  or  glided  through  labyrinthian  snow- 
caves  with  a  bright,  red-cheeked  boy,  my  constant 
companion,  torment,  and  champion, — thinking  of  this, 
how  tame  and  aimless  seemed  my  present  life ! 

"  Your  heart  is  not  with  us,"  my  husband  would 
say,  if  a  shadow  rested  on  my  face ;  "  patience,  Georgie 


110  AT   ANCHOE  : 

dearest,  let  the  fierce  March  winds  go  by,  and  my 
prisoned  bird  shall  breathe  her  native  air  again." 

And  for  that  I  seemed  to  live.  I  counted  the  days 
until  the  spring  should  be  at  hand,  and  I  could  be 
once  more  in  the  arms  of  the  old  house. 

No  change  had  come  over  my  husband's  tender- 
ness, but  I  was  far  from  being  his  sole  engrossing 
thought.  Deeper  things  than  I  was  permitted  to 
know  were  being  woven  in  my  A^ery  house,  which  I, 
hands  tied,  could  make  no  effort  to  sunder. 

A  day  or  two  before  we  were  to  leave,  it  was  not 
long  after  the  Charleston  Convention,  my  husband 
brought  some  of  its  members  home  to  dinner. 

"  Do  not  invite  any  one,"  he  said  to  me ;  "  let  it  be 
really  en  famille,  and  do  try  to  keep  that  Grimes 
away.  He  has  lately  adopted  a  fashion  of  intruding 
his  vulgar  face  whenever  I  have  gentlemen  here;  I 
don't  like  it ;  and,  Georgie  " — this  very  wistfully — 
"Georgie,  darling,  it  kills  me  to  keep  these  things 
from  you ;  I  cannot  deceive  you,  and  we  so  much 
need  your  help,  your  quick  observations,  your  tact, 
your  ready  woman's  instinct ;  I  want  your  brave 
heart  and  your  noble  soul  to  uphold  and  steady  mine. 
But  I  have  to  shut  up  every  thing  in  myself,  away 
from  you, — should  it  be  so  ?  " 

"  You  can  trust  me,  at  least.  It  may  be  that  I 
cannot  agree  with  you,  that  I  shall  even  be  forced  to 
condemn  your  work ;  but  I  can  respect  your  motives. 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  Ill 

I  do  not  flatter  myself  I  could  aid  your  cause  if  I 
would  ;  but  I  can  guard  your  honor." 

"  Then  I  need  not  fear  to  speak  before  you  ?  " 

"  Carl ! " 

"  I  mean  that  I  did  not  know  but  you  would  con- 
sider your  duty  to  your  country  would  requii'e  you  to 
betray  your  husband." 

"  I  have  been  too  often  tried,  as  you  know,  and 
been  proved  too  weak  for  any  such  Spartan  virtues  for 
you  to  fear  me  now." 

"  It  is  a  great  relief  to  me,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  am 
always  afraid  of  your  heroic.  Puritanic  J^ew  England- 
ers.  I  do  not  care  how  hardly  you  blame  us  to  our 
faces,  so  you  keep  our  secret.  You  will  have  to  meet 
all  sorts  of  men,  Georgie  darling,  men  that  I  hate  to 
have  to  breathe  the  same  air  Tvdth  you,  men  that  I 
shrink  from  meeting  myself;  but  I  know  you  will  un- 
derstand that  it  is  necessity." 

"  I  never  mind  that  sort  of  thing,  Carl ;  if  men 
are  vile  and  base,  I  feel  it  if  they  are  ever  so  smooth 
and  polished;  but  most  men  have  something  endurable 
in  them,  so  do  not  worry  for  me.  Are  you  to  have  a 
set  of  diplomats  to  dinner  to-day  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  somewhat  in  that  line,  I  must  con- 
fess ;  insignificant,  common-place  men  they  may  seem 
to  you,  and  they  probably  are  not  broad-minded,  but 
each  has  his  allotted  work,  and  through  that  may  one 
day  be  famous.   I  shall  tell  you  no  more  of  them  or  our 


112  AT  anchor: 

plans,  but  let  them  develop  themselves;  only  this, 
whatever  is  said,  answer  as  you  choose;  I  will  not 
have  my  wife  restricted  at  my  own  dinner-table. 
There  are  things  that  will  seem  strange,  perhaps  re- 
pulsive to  you,  but  I  trust  to  the  largeness  of  your 
intellect  to  know  such  things  must  be,  and  to  make 
allowances  for  all ;  and,  remember,  we  see  our  own  side 
of  the  shield  as  clearly  as  you  yours." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  succeeded  over  well  in 
your  conventions,"  I  said,  at  dinner,  to  relieve  an  em- 
barrassed silence,  or  a  more  embarrassing  attempt  at 
small  talk  among  the  gentlemen.  "  Are  good  men 
and  true  men  so  scarce  that  you  could  not  find  a  wor- 
thy candidate  among  them  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  sad  affair,"  said  one,  without  lifting  his 
eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Aberthnay,"  said  my  husband,  significantly, 
*'  although  of  Northern  biith,  is  very  free  from  North- 
era  prejudices ;  and  though  she  will  not  let  me,  quite 
yet,  call  her  an  earnest  friend  to  our  cause,  she  is,  at 
least,  a  noble  and  trusty  foe." 

Every  one  looked  relieved,  and  a  gentleman  next 
me  offered  me  his  hand  ;  "  such  a  foe  speedily  becomes 
a  friend,"  he  said,  "  we  welcome  you." 

"  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  be  called  your  oppo- 
nent," I  said,  "  until  I  see  something  I  must  oppose." 

"  We  shall  not  break  our  hearts  over  the  fate  of  the 
Charleston  Convention,"  one  said,  who  seemed  to  be 


A   STORY    OP    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  113 

their  leader,  and  whose  name  was  Layton,  I  think. 
"  We  are  going  to  be  good,  and  let  the  ISTorth  elect 
her  own  president  for  this  term." 

"  Provided  he  is  of  our  choosing,"  said  a  Lieut. 
Gwynn,  one  of  my  husband's  classmates  at  West  Point. 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  trouble  ourselves,"  answer- 
ed Mr.  Layton ;  "  Abraham  will  be  an  excellent  patri- 
arch for  us  as  for  the  North.  He  was  especially  made 
for  this  emergency,  if  I  know  the  man  ;  we'll  let  the 
ISTorth  have  him  to  its  heart's  content." 

"  But  he  is  the  Republican  choice,"  I  said. 

"  Most  fortunately,  we  think,  some  of  us— most  for- 
tunately, Mrs.  Aberthnay,  for  us,  they  have  chosen 
the  very  man  who  will  help  us  best,"  answered  Mr. 
Layton  again.  "  We  think  him,  some  of  us,  an  obsti- 
nate, self-willed,  ignorant  third-rate  attorney.  You 
mustn't  mind  our  saying  it,  you  know,  because  he  may 
turn  out  a  second  Washington,  whom,  by  the  way,  I 
never  considered  any  very  great  shakes  of  a  man. 
Yes,  he  is  the  Republican  choice,  and  if  we  can  only 
get  him  elected  we  are  all  right." 

"  But  even  granting  the  man  to  be  a  fool,"  I  said, 
"  how  can  you  be  willing  to  have  a  Republican  Presi- 
dent?" 

"  Because,  my  dear  lady,  we  want  only  one  more 
wrong  to  perfect  our  plans.  To  speak  plainly  to  our 
trusty  foe^  every  thing  is  ready  for  the  explosion;  we 
only  want  the  match  to  staii*  it." 


114  AT  axchor: 

"  And  the  insult  of  a  Northern  President — "  began 
Lieut.  G^vynn. 

"  Stimulated,  encouraged,  and  completed  by  your- 
selves," I  added, "  is  to  furnish  that  match  ?  It  strikes 
me,  gentlemen,  that  a  work  commenced  with  so  much 
— duplicity  "  I  intended  saying,  but  seeing  my  hus- 
band's anxious  face,  I  changed  the  word  to  "  address," 
"  cannot  but  succeed.  But  do  you  think  Mr.  Lincoln 
will  be  elected  ?  " 

"  Beyond  a  doubt,"  answered  a  small-featured  fiery 
seeming  little  man  on  my  right,  who  had  not  before 
spoken.  "  They  will  elect  Abraham  Lincoln ;  they 
will  dare  force  on  us  a  Black  Republican  President ;  a 
rail-splitter,  a  low-bred,  vulgar  backwoodsman,  for  our 
iiiler ! " 

"  Good ! "  cried  Lieut.  Gwynn,  "  Avork  that  up  into 
an  editorial  to-morrow;  it  will  tell;  it  is  very  sugges- 
tive, that  is  ;  one  could  make  a  lot  out  of  that." 

"  ]S"ot  so  fast,"  interposed  Mr.  Layton,  "  who  knows 
but  the  Yankees  will  take  you  at  your  word,  and  be 
afraid  to  put  up  a  vulgarian,  like  Abe." 

"  There  is  no  danger ;  Abraham  is  the  New  Eng- 
land Coriolanus ;  they  like  the  idea,  it  is  a  new  one, 
and  they  will  stick  to  it.  Besides,  too,  many  of  my 
beloved  brethren  of  the  press  know  what  they  are 
about." 

"That's  your  department,  friend  Risley,"  Lieut. 
Gwynn  said;  "  you  wield  the  pen  and  I  the  sword." 


A   STOEY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAB.  116 

"  It  will  not  come  to  that,"  remarked  Mr.  Layton. 

"  It  may,"  replied  my  husband.  "  At  all  events 
we  must  expect  it.  We  may  never  need  to  strike  a 
blow ;  but  we  must  be  prepared  to  strike  many,  and 
perhaps  to  lose  our  heads  for  it." 

"  Very  improbable,"  returned  Mr.  Layton,  who  was 
evidently  a  man  of  peace.  "I  doubt  if  it  will  be  more 
than  the  settling  of  a  few  law  questions,  and  the  dis- 
play of  a  few  tricks  by  that  excellent  attorney,  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.  What  think  you,  Mrs.  Aberthnay  ? 
Will  the  North  let  us  go  in  peace,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  '  go  ? ' "  I  asked. 

"  Orderly,  quietly,  and  according  to  law,  if  they 
will  let  us ;  with  flourish  of  trumpets  and  roll  of  drums, 
if  they  will  not." 

"  This  is  something  so  unexpected  and  unsusj^ected 
at  the  Xorth,"  I  said,  "  that  in  the  first  surprise  she 
might  forbear  immediate  violence ;  but  the  peaceable 
separation  of  one  State  from  the  Union  can  never  be." 

"  It  is  rather  late  in  the  day  to  talk  of  the  chances," 
said  my  husband.  "  For  my  part,  I  want  no  peaceable 
separation.     I  am  for  war — war  to  the  knife." 

"  And  I !  "  cried  the  Lieutenant. 

"  Easy,  easy,  gentlemen,"  Mr.  Layton  said  ;  "  bet- 
ter any  thing  than  war  until  our  new  Confederacy  is 
well  bound  together.  What  we  want  is  to  establish 
the  precedent,  make  the  Union  acknowledge  the  right 
of  a  State  to  secede,  and  we  have  the  Southern  and 


116  AT  anchor: 

Border  States  sure ;  by  and  by  we  will  take  in  the 
Middle  States,  and  sweep  downward  to  the  Gulf. 
Then  we  may  fight  any  nation  on  earth,  not  now." 

"  So  you  don't  mean  to  take  in  Xew  England?" 
I  asked. 

"  Not  if  we  know  ourselves.  New  England  has 
been  the  skeleton  in  our  closet  long  enough;  if  we 
take  her  in  ever,  it  will  be  by  conquest,"  said  Mr. 
Layton. 

"  Then  you  bid  her  an  eternal  farewell !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Xew  England,  indeed  !  "  broke  out  Lieut.  Gwynn. 
"  Better  than  sweeping  down  to  the  Gulf,  as  Mr,  Lay- 
ton  says,  would  it  be  to  see  South  Carolina  and  Mas- 
sachusetts arrayed  for  a  fail*  field  and  fight  against 
each  other.     I'd  bet  my  all  on  the  issue." 

"  The  Massachusetts  men  will  make  the  best  fight- 
ers in  the  North,"  my  husband  remarked. 

"  I  should  judge  the  Western  men  would  do  bet- 
ter," I  said  ;  "  they  are  so  rugged." 

"  For  some  reasons  you  are  very  right,  Mrs.  Ab- 
erthnay,"  said  Mr.  Layton,  who,  courteously,  made  me 
all  the  exj^lanations.  "  An  army  must  fight  for  a  prin- 
ciple, and  the  better  the  principle  is  understood  the 
more  it  will  afiect  the  fighters.  Besides,  the  morale  is 
half  its  power,  and  a  New  England  man,  whose  will  is 
stronger  than  any  other  emotion  belonging  to  him, 
must  fight  well  if  he  fights  at  aU.  The  Westerners 
are  more  hardy,  it  is  true.     If  I  were  to  lead  an  army 


A    STOBY    OF    OUE    CIVIL    TVAR.  llY 

I  would  rather  have  moral  courage  and  physical  cow- 
ardice than  the  reverse,  to  command.  How  is  it,  Cap- 
tain, am  I  right  ?  "  he  added,  to  a  gentleman  who  had 
spoken  but  little,  and  that  altogether  to  my  husband. 

"  Right,  sir ! "  was  the  laconic  reply  from  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  I  count  very  little  on  help  from  the  Xorth,"  my 
husband  said,  after  some  minutes  of  silence. 

"  And  I  every  thing  !  "  cried  Mr.  Risley ;  "  we  have 
many  zealous  friends  at  the  North,  initiated  and  other- 
wise; but   for  them  our  glorious  undertaking  could 
never  come  to  its  culmination." 
"  How  is  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Northern  merchants  supply  us  with  arms  and 
ammunition — " 

"  Has  it  come  to  that  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Come  to  that  ?  Why,  my  dear  lady,  it  has  been 
at  that  this  many  a  day.  As  I  was  observing,  or  about 
to  observe,  the  Northern  press,  partly  with  knowledge 
and  partly  in  ignorance,  form  public  opinion,  and 
there  is  often  a  big  swing  around  our  way ;  Northern 
merchants,  who  would  sooner  lose  all  the  flags  in 
Christendom  than  the  patronage  of  one  'Southern  firm, 
are  on  their  knees  begging  to  serve  us.  We  have  not 
been  these  twenty  years  building  a  grand  conservative 
party  there  for  nothing.  We  have  made  it,  formed  it, 
moulded  it,  and  fashioned  it  round  about,  and  now 
hold  it  in  our  hands.     You  will  find  in  a  few  months  a 


118  AT  akchoe: 

host  of  Northern  writers,  speakers,  and  demagogues 
generally,  fighting  lustily  for  us." 

"  This  thing  has  gone  far,"  I  said. 

"  Almost  to  the  end,"  one  answered. 

"  And,  gentlemen,  just  among  ourselves,  what  do 
you  expect  the  world  to  say  of  you?" 

"As  it  does  of  all  schemes:  if  successful,  just;  if 
unsuccessful,  infamous. 

"  And  your  consciences  ?  " 

"  Applaud  us ! "  answered  my  husband,  enthusi- 
astically. 

The  Captain  here  showed  some  interest  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"  And  history  ?"  I  continued. 

"  Will  judge  us  as  the  world  judges,"  re|plied  Mr. 
Layton,  "  according  to  our  success." 

"  Successful  or  failing,"  I  asked,  "  will  it  forgive 
you  for  the  infinite  misery  your  movement  may  cause  ? 
Will  it  forgive  you  for  the  blood  of  the  bravest  and 
the  tears  of  the  purest  ?  Will  it  forgive  you  for  the 
loss  of  the  noblest  country  whose  story  has  even  bless- 
ed its  pages?  Will  it  forgive  you  for  rights  invaded, 
for  principles  disregarded,  for  honor  desecrated,  for 
broken  hearts,  for  lost  lives,  and  vanished  souls? 
If  you  have  wrongs,  remember  no  state  or  society 
ever  had  less ;  remember,  to  right  them  would  infi- 
nitely multiply  others ;  if  you  are  ambitious,  remember 
ambition  may  soar  to  heaven  or  lower  to  hell,  choose 


A   STOET   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  119 

yours.  Let  the  good  of  humanity  decide  you,  let  the 
tears  of  countless  "widows  move  you,  let  the  sorrow 
of  unborn  generations  plead  with  you,  for,  successful 
or  failing,  truth  and  justice  will  pronounce  you  rebels 
and  traitors." 

My  husband  looked  at  me  aghast ;  the  Captain  was 
silently  balancing  a  spoon ;  the  others  looked  not  over- 
pleased,  and  in  this  manner  we  left  the  table. 

"I  have  given  my  homily,  and  eased  my  con- 
science," I  added;  "Mr.  Aberthnay  will  give  you 
cigars,  and  by  and  by  I  will  give  you  coffee  and  mu- 
sic, which  I  hope  you  will  like  as  well  as  either." 

The  Captain  went  to  the  door  with  me,  and  even 
followed  me  out  into  the  gallery.  Here  he  paused 
and  handed  me  a  lettei*.  "  I  have  not  quite  known 
whether  or  not  to  send  it,"  he  said ;  "  you  have  de- 
cided me  not,  and  you  deserve  to  know  your  victory. 
After  reading,  please  destroy  it." 

I  understood  the  letter  moderately  well :  it  was  the 
resignation  of  his  commission.  I  remember  the  name 
very  well,  James  Belton^  written  in  large  round  let- 
ters, perfectly  characteristic  of  the  Captain,  as  one 
knew  at  a  glance. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Georgie,"  whispered  my  husband, 
preceding  the  others  into  the  parlor,  "  atone  for  that 
cruel  speech." 

I  saw  already  its  uselessness ;  I  understood  that  I 
was  endangering,  for  no  purpose,  my  own  and  my  hus- 


120  AT  anchor: 

band's  security.  Poor  fellow!  had  I  not  already- 
wronged  him  enough  ?  So  I  did  my  best  to  make  up 
for  that  which  I  had  said.  I  promised  the  Editor  let- 
ters from  the  Xorth;  I  played  chess  with  Lieut. 
Gwynn,  let  him  beat,  and  complimented  him  on  his 
skill.  "  It  may  make  you  a  General  one  of  these  days," 
I  said.  I  sang  Mr.  Layton's  favorite  songs,  and  when 
they  were  all  in  better  humor  with  me,  I  went  into  a 
heavy  political  argument  Tv^th  them,  and  allowed  my- 
self to  be  almost  vanquished,  which  is  as  much  as  one 
can  expect  of  a  New  England  woman. 

"  We  shall  have  you  an  enthusiastic  Southerner 
soon,"  said  Mr.  Layton. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  added ;  "  I  never  ask  more 
than  to  find  my  opponent  open  to  conviction.  You 
would  be  a  good  friend  now,  only  I  perceive  Mr.  Ab- 
erthnay  has  not  set  the  arguments  before  you." 

"  Ah,  you  must  not  convince  me,"  I  said. 

"  We  will  let  you  off  after  that,  Mrs.  Aberthnay," 
the  Lieutenant  said  ;  "that  one  sentence  half  promises 
surrender.     The  Xorth  itself  will  finish  the  work." 

So,  on  the  whole,  they  went  away  pleased,  as  men 
always  are  when  they  haA^e  demonstrated  their  supe- 
rior minds. 

I  watched  my  husband  long  after  the  others  had 
gone,  as  he  lay  back  in  his  arm-chair  lost  in  thought. 
He  seemed  to  have  grown  years   older  in  the  few 


A    STOEY    OF    OUR    CIYLL   WAK.  121 

months  lately  passed.  How  he  must  have  suffered, 
been  suffering,  while  I,  his  wife,  his  only  friend,  kept 
her  heart  closed  to  him. 

I  went  around  to  where  he  sat,"  softly,  and  laid  my 
hand  on  his  forehead ;  it  was  burning.  Smiling  up  to 
me  with  that  love  which  never  failed,  he  laid  his  head 
over  my  heart.  "  Let  me  take  a  little  of  its  care,"  I 
said ;  "  I  who  give  it  so  much." 

"  No,  no,  Georgie ;  it  was  of  your  care  I  was  think- 
ing ;  if  we  could  only  bear  every  thing  together.  Re- 
ligious differences  between  my  wife  and  myself  was 
the  only  thing  I  used  to  fear ;  who  would  have  thought 
so  small  a  matter  as  politics,  a  subject  which  Ave  once, 
do  you  remember,  pet  Georgie,  thought  unworthy  of 
a  few  moments'  careless  thought,  should  now  divide 
us!" 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  so  strongly,"  I  said ; 
"  the  words  surprised  me  as  much  as  they  did  you." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that ;  you  could  not  help 
speaking  as  you  did:  they  honored  you, — Southern 
men  always  honor  frankness  ;  they  respected  the  feel- 
ing which  dictated  your  words.  All  of  them,  except 
perhaps  Captain  Belton." 

"Did  he  not  like  it?"  --* 

"  He  was  the  only  one  who  spoke  of  it.     He  said  it 

was  very  doubtful  if  our  fears  had  foundation ;  but  that 

if  they  had,  and  this  came  to  any  thing,  it  was  to  be 

hoped  Mrs.  Aberthnay  would  be  spared  any  contest 
6 


122  AT  anchor: 

between  her  feelings  and  her  actions ;  or  some  rounded, 
set  speech  of  that  import." 

"  Yet  he  spoke  to  me,  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  de- 
stroy." 

"  He  will  have  time  to  change  his  mind  around 
again,"  my  husband  answered,  after  reading  the  letter. 
"  I  am  glad  he  has  left  us  ;  we  want  none  with  us  who 
are  not  heart  and  soul  in  our  cause.  I  am  glad  he  has 
found  courage  to  leave  us." 

"Oh!   Carl,  if  you— " 

"It  is  not  possible,  Georgie;  my  fate  is  firmly 
fixed.  Do  not  worry  me  with  pleadings.  I  have  de- 
cided. Before  we  return  from  the  ^NTorth,  it  will  be 
pretty  clear  what  is  to  be  done.  If  there  is  danger  of 
trouble,  I  want  you  to  remain  with  your  uncle ;  to  ar- 
range every  thing  pleasantly  for  you  will  be  one  of  my 
greatest  comforts,  one  which  you  must  not  deny 
me." 

"  I  must.  Either  with  you  here,  or  with  you  there. 
I  shall  not  leave  you  under  any  circumstances." 

"  Georgie,  do  you  remember  once,  in  Washington, 
when  we  were  dining  at  Mrs.  Gaynor's,  some  one  made 
the  remark,  that  until  a  woman  would  lose  her  soul 
for  one  she  loved,  she  did  not  love?  Do  you  remefh- 
ber  hov/  shocked  you  were,  and  how  much  more 
shocked  when  I  said  you  were  just  that  manner  of 
woman  ?  " 

"  As  I  had  a  ricrht  to  be.     Tou  know  me  better 


A    STORY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  123 

now  than  to  think  me  any  such  mad,  passionate  wo- 
man." 

"  Still,  Georgie,  can  nothing  make  you  love 
me?" 

"  Can  nothing  less  than  such  wicked  folly  content 
you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  make  sacrifices,  more  than 
I  can  help,  for  me."  ' 

"  K  you  loved  me,  Carl,  you  would  know  there  are 
no  sacrifices  in  love." 

"  Then  you  will  not  leave  me  to  battle  this  out  by 
myself?" 

"  Am  I  not  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Always  that !  I  hate  your  heroism !  I  do,  in- 
deed. I  wish  you  were  a  great  big  baby  of  a  woman, 
who  would  fret  at  me,  and  cry,  and  scold,  and  go 
into  hysterics ;  any  thing  but  this  passive  endurance 
of  every  thing ;  this  complete  submission  to  my  will 
and  my  wishes  !  Isn't  there  any  rebelKon  in  you, 
Georgie  ?  " 

"  ]^ot  a  particle." 

"  Then  I'm  to  have  your  bodily  presence,  without 
your  sympathy  ?     Well,  I  ought  to  be  grateful !  " 

"  You're  a  barbarian  !  " 

"  There,  that's  something  like  !  If  I  were  to  fret 
very  much,  perhaps  in  time  you  would  caU  me  a  hrute, 
and  then  my  happiness  would  be  complete !  What 
are  the  chances,  Georgie,  pet  ?  " 


124  AT  ANCHOE. 

"That  it  will  be  well  deserved,  whether  said  or 
not." 

"  Better  and  better ;  have  I  driven  you  off?  Well, 
to-morrow  for  the  !N"orth.  I  have  work  enough  to  do 
there." 


CHAPTER  Xn, 

"We  were  not  destined  to  get  away  without  one 
more  meeting  with  political  men ;  for  all  day,  nearly, 
my  husband  had  visitors,  and  three  joined  us  at  our 
early  dinner. 

They  had  already  discovered  my  existence,  as  I 
learned  by  the  indiscreet  loudness  of  a  coarse  voice, 
that,  on  the  way  to  dinner,  pronounced  my  name  and 
and  spoke  of  my  natural  qualifications  as  sufficient  to 
do  something  which,  I  surmised,  their  arguments  had 
failed  to  do.  I  did  not  hear  my  husband's  answer,  but 
I  was  convinced  it  was  only  a  reply  in  words,  and  not 
at  all  prepossessed  in  favor  of  my  guests  by  this  little 
interchange  of  thought,  I  received  my  husband  and 
them. 

All  three  were  strangers  to  me;  an  open-faced, 
soldierly  man.  Major  Montreuil,  sat  on  my  right ;  a 
rather  shabby  but  aristocratic-featured  man,  intro- 
duced as  Mr.  Beames,  supported  me  on  the  other  side ; 
while  a  Mr.  Miles,  to  whom  the  rough  voice  belonged, 
completed  the  number.     I  saw  my  husband  was  tired 


126  AT  anchor: 

and  >Yomecl,  and  I  felt,  myself,  impatient  to  have  the 
coming  hour  go  by. 

I  was  cross,  which  always,  among  those  I  dislike, 
makes  me  suspicious ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  I  dis- 
covered that  somebody  was  wanted  to  be  added  to 
their  fiiends,  who  had,  so  far,  resisted  all  allurements ; 
and  it  was  thought,  as  this  somebody  was  socially  in- 
clined, a  few  womanly  persuasions,  properly  disguised, 
might  attain  the  desired  result,  and  it  would  be,  I  fan- 
cied, a  result  of  great  importance  to  my  husband's 
side.  My  well-known  [N'orthern  birth  and  generally 
supposed  Northern  jjrejudices,  and  perhaps  some  nat- 
ural tact,  made  me,  I  suppose,  chosen  to  apply  these 
"  womanly  persuasions." 

Having  quite  satisfied  myself  of  their  desire,  I 
amused  myself  watching  their  plans  of  attack.  The 
Major,  wlio  was  clearly  an  ambitious,  dashing  man, 
recognized  something  of  similar  qualities  in  me,  and 
only  doubted  "  if  I  had  the  grit  to  do  this  thing."  I 
think  Mr.  Beames  was  a  man  of  a  higher  order  of  mind, 
and  must  have  known  that  I  could  not  work  except  in 
conformity  with  my  own  convictions.  Mr.  Miles  had 
implied  his  motive-key  in  his  half-heard  speech  to  my 
husband ;  for,  after  all,  peo2:)le  judge  us  very  much  af- 
ter the  fashion  of  their  own  order. 

"Well,"  said  the  Major,  "things  look  much  as  if 
there  was  a  prospect  of  a  lively  time  before  a  year  has 
passed.    The  days  are  approaching ;  they  have  already 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  127 

commenced,  I  may  say,  that  make  history,  Mrs.  Ab- 
erthnay.  We  arc  coming  to  the  days  that  will  make 
heroes  of  our  countrymen,  and  days  that  raise  up 
Rienzis," — a  half  glance  at  my  Roman-like  husband — 
"  and  Ninas  beyond  the  skill  of  any  Bulwer  to  paint. 
"What  Scott,  ^yhat  Shakespeare,  will  ever  exhaust  the 
theme  ?  " 

"  If  not  Scott  or  Shakespeare,"  I  said, "  a  Sylvanus 
and  a  Southworth.  If  you  do  no  more.  Major  Mon- 
treuil,  you  ^vill  give  the  foundation  for  a  new  American 
literature.  What  is  the  old  line :  '  Blanche^  Siceet- 
heart^  little  dogs^  and  all^  will  have  their  bark  at  you, 
or  the  other  side.  There  was  a  vroman  whom  nobody 
knew,  in  Nev,^  York,  who  saw  fit  to  marry  her  father's 
coachman,  who,  likely  enough,  had  as  fair  a  start  in 
life  as  many  a  worthy  friend  of  the  lady's  father.  One 
could  not  undertake  to  tell  the  books  that  were  written 
on  the  subject ;  the  veritable  history  of  half  a  thousand, 
more  or  less,  heroines,  black-eyed  and  blue,  tall  and 
short,  learned  and  simple,  who  devotedly  loved  and 
frantically  married  into  the  interesting  social  class 
designated  as  grooms.  Think  what  a  relief  to  our 
authors  to  have  a  Grand  Southern  Rebellion  to 
chronicle,  instead  of  the  now  well-worn  theme  of  do- 
mestic revolution." 

"There  is  a  world  of  meaning  under  Mrs.  Aberth- 
nay's  jest,"  said  my  husband.  "  Our  movement,  be 
its  end  what  it  may,  will  give  us  a  national  literature. 


128  AT  a:n-chor: 

We  have  very  few  late  American  boots, — living, 
breathing  American  works ;  no  hash  of  English  and 
French  romance,  or  ridiculous  imitations  of  European 
society,  but  outright  American  books,  with  just  such 
tastes,  thoughts,  and  doings  as  we  see  surrounding  us. 
I  believe  half  of  the  success  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  Uncle 
ToJii's  Cabin  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  was  a  genuine 
American  book,  which,  even  though  it  was  hard  upon 
us^  we  read  because  it  belonged  to  us.  TVe  shall  have 
a  history,  a  national  history,  not  a  humdrum,  worn-out 
story  of  Pilgrims  and  Plymouth  Rocks.  We  shall 
have  heroes  now  that  will  not  only  suffer  and  be  pa- 
tient, but  toil  and  be  strong.  Altogether,  I  think  we 
shall  put  some  new  elements  into  the  minds  of  men 
living  now,  and  leave  something  more  than  a  name  for 
ages  yet  to  be." 

"  Who  knows,"  said  ]Mr.  Beames,  "  the  legends  yet 
to  cluster  around  our  names, — the  names  of  us  who  sit 
here,  under  Mrs.  Aberthnay's  eyes,  that  are  half  ridi- 
culing and  half  inspiring  our  enthusiasm  ?  If  I  can  do 
no  more,  I  will,  at  least,  write  a  song,  some  of  these 
days,  for  the  populace  to  sing  ;  for  there's  more  power 
in  the  jingle  of  some  popular  rhymes  than  in  half  a 
hundred  speeches.  Witness  the  revolutionary  *  Yan- 
kee Doodle!'" 

"  We  are  laying  a  glorious  foundation,"  the  Major 
now  told  us,  having  been  too  long  kept  from  the 
charge  by  our  skii*misliing,  "  as  Mrs.  Aberthnay,  under 


A   STOKY   OP   OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  129 

all  her  fine  sarcasm  does  not  fail  to  admit.  I  would 
like  to  get  through  all  our  coming  battles  with  my 
life  and  my  eyes,  for  the  comfort  of  one  day  reading 
the  attempts  to  do  justice  to  the  history  that,  as  I  said 
before,  we  are  making.  But  who  can  ever  do  justice 
to  the  boldness,  skill,  and  courage  of  our  men, — to  the 
wit,  the  beauty,  and  the  heroism  of  our  women  ?  " 

"  You  let  in  the  woman  element  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  should  give  up  our  cause  as  hopeless,"  he  an- 
swered, "  were  there  not  in  every  rank  and  degree 
brave  and  beautiful  women,  with  the  address  and  the 
courage  to  aid  us.  Never  was  there  a  wider  sphere 
for  womanly  work ;  and  I  know  our  Southern  women 
will  be  behind  none,  Spartans  though  they  may  be,  in 
showing  this  to  be  so.  What  a  scope  for  their  tact 
and  their  talent,  their  courage  and  their  tenderness, 
while  the  weak  are  to  be  nerved,  the  vacillating  to  be 
steadied,  and  the  opposed  to  be  converted  ! " 

The  Major  had  opened  his  battery,  but  paused  for 
ammunition,  and  in  the  pause  Mr.  Beames  commenced 
his  attack. 

"]N''ot  common  pride  and  ambition  merely,"  he 
said,  "  should  nerve  and  lead  us  in  these  days,  but  the 
thought  that,  through  all  ages,  our  names  will  be  wa- 
tered with  the  loving  tears  of  a  grateful  people  :  the 
thought  that  our  hands  are  sowing  the  seed  that  will 
ripen  into  eternal  fruit." 

"  I  fear,  a  poisonous  fruit,"  I  answered ;  "  what  bet- 
6* 


130  AT   ANCHOR  : 

ter  can  spring  from  such  seditious  seed  ?  "  Mr.  Beames 
had  shot  ^sride  of  the  mark,  and  I  saw  my  reply  had 
staggered  the  Major.  Mr.  Miles  dashed  into  the  con- 
versation perfectly  unconcerned  by  any  thing  I  could 
say. 

"  It  ain't  every  one  as  can  understand  them  high- 
flown  sentiments,"  he  informed  us.  "  Some  do,  per- 
haps, but  we  all  has  our  motives.  Some  goes  in,  like 
the  Major,  for  the '  grit  of  the  thing,'  and  for  promotion, 
like  enough.  Some  goes  in,  like  Mr.  Beames,  because 
they  hate  the  ISTorth,  and  do  kind  of  believe  the  old 
Union  ain't  exactly  the  thing." 

"  You  make  shrewd  guesses,"  said  my  husband. 
"  How  about  the  rest  of  us  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  you,  Mr.  Abeilhnay,  take  to  the 
thing  because  it's  grand  and  romantic,  and  sounds  like 
Bruce  and  William  Tell.  I  hope  you'll  get  the  glory, 
sir.     Some  goes  in,  like  Mrs.  Aberthnay — " 

"  But  I  don't  '  go  in.'  "  I  interrupted. 

"  But  you  will,"  he  answered.  "  You've  got  the 
nerve,  and  when  your  husband  gets  in  a  tight  place 
you  ain't  the  woman  to  leave  him  there.  You  ain't  a 
going  to  crowd  down  all  your  fine  ideas  of  things,  and 
leave  Mr.  Aberthnay  down  here  among  a  parcel  of 
traitors^  as  you  called  us  the  other  day." 

"So  you  heard  of  that?" 

"  Yes'm ;  and  we  knows  very  well  it's  what  we'll 
be  called  for  a  while  yet.     So  you'll  go  in,  Mrs.  Ab- 


A   STOKY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   "\VAE.  131 

erthnay,  and  you'll  be  worth  a  dozen  men ;  and  when 
you  see  what  you  can  do  you'll  stay  in." 

"  yrhat  takes  you  in,  may  I  ask,  Mr.  Miles  ?  " 

"  I  go  in,  ma'am,  for  a  beef  contract  the  Major  has 
promised  me.  That  is  in  my  own  line,  ma'am.  We 
all  has  our  motives." 

"You  are  an  observer  of  things,  I  see,  Mr. 
Miles." 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  it  ain't  my  way  to  go  through  the 
world  with  my  eyes  shut.  I  looks  around  and  I  sees 
heaps  of  things  that  maybe  other  people  don't  think 
big  enough  to  count :  I  counts  them."  ' 

"  As  you  have  seen  so  much  of  the  world,"  said  the 
Major,  "  suppose  you  tell  us  how  we  can  take  Fort 
Blank,  in  case  we  need  it  ?" 

"  A  dashing  assault  by  a  smart  woman,  and  noth- 
ing else,"  he  answered,  clapping  his  hand  uj)on  the 
table.  "The  Captain  is  as  afraid  as  death  of  avo- 
men." 

Tliere  was  an  awkward  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  travelled  a  great  deal,  IMr. 
Miles,"  I  said,  to  break  it. 

"Xever  outside  of  Yirginny  until  now,  ma'am. 
Yirginny's  a  likely  old  State." 

"  There  will  be  lively  times  there  one  of  these 
days,  if  we  ever  come  to  blows,"  my  husband  re- 
marked ;  "  Yii-ginia  and  Kentucky  will  be  our  battle- 
grounds." 


132  AT  axchoe: 

"  I  ho2:>e  not,"  Mr.  Beames  remarked.  "  Virginia's 
more  than  a  likely  State,  as  our  excellent  friend  ob- 
serves ;  it  is  a  noble  old  State,  Avhich  even  the  Yankees 
admire.  I  cannot  imao'ine  such  a  thing-  as  soldier-tents 
in  view  of  those  grand  old  mansions,  unless  placed 
there  for  a  holiday  parade.  I  never  could  sec  why  any 
fault  w^as  found  with  Thackeray's  '  Virginians.''  I  think 
he  gave  the  spirit  of  the  State  truthfully,  and  in  a  w^ay 
to  do  her  sous  honor." 

"I  wonder  if  Kentucky  will  come  over?"  the 
Major  asked. 

"Has  not  our  excellent  going-to-be  President  an 
interest  in  Kentucky  ?  "  Mr.  Beames  interrogated. 

"  If  so,"  my  husband  answered  to  both  questions, 
"the  worst  will  be  that  it  w^ill  be  neutral,  Avhich  will 
do  very  well  as  a  means  of  communication  with  the 
North,  should  harsh  measures  be  used." 

"  You  talk,"  I  said,  "  as  if  your  Mr.  Lincoln  were 
already  elected,  and  had  declared  war  against  you." 

"Elected  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be,"  responded  the 
Major,  "  only  you  must  not  allow  your  Northern  friends 
to  crow  over  you  in  advance ;  declare  war  he  never 
will,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Afraid  ?  You  officers  are  so  bloodthirsty !  "  I 
commented. 

"  It  will  be  almighty  tough  work  to  carry  Yirgin- 
ny,"  said  Mr.  Miles ;  "  she's  too  near  Ohio  to  have 
much  pluck." 


A   STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   AVAR.  133 

"  Ohio  is  near  enough  to  keep  her  straight,  that's 
true,"  said  the  Major ;  "  but  we  can  count  on  one  of 
her  sons,"  smiling  upon  Mr.  Miles. 

"  If  Yirginny  goes,  I  goes,"  answered  that  gentle- 
man ;  "I  goes  with  my  State." 

"May  every  State  that  hesitates  pay  dearly  for 
her  cowardice ! "  the  Major  observed  with  emphasis. 
"  Let  them  choose  at  once,  and  be  open  about  it." 

"  No  doubt  we  shall  all  pay  dearly  for  our  course," 
returned  Mr.  Beames.  "  No  one  ever  attempted  a  re- 
form of  the  most  moderate  dimensions  without  paying 
for  it ;  but  we  have  the  glorious  consolation  of  know- 
ing that  we  buy  our  liberty  cheap  at  any  price,  and 
we  must  be  prepared  for  whatever  may  come." 

"  We  shrink  from  nothing,"  my  husband  said,  with 
a  fire  that  made  me  proud  of  him ;  "  Ave  are  prepared 
to  sacrifice  every  thing  except  the  principles  which 
are  dearer  to  us  than  life,  even  than  those  we  hold 
dearest.  I  bid  you  farewell  now,  my  friends,  in  doubt 
and  indecision  in  regard  to  the  future ;  but  about  one 
thing  there  can  be  no  hesitation  among  patriots — 
we  will  be  freef'' 

So  we  said  good-bye,  checked  our  trunks,  and 
started  for  Boston. 

At  this  point  I  am  requested  by  an  interested  and 
evidently  appreciative  listener,  to  state  Avhat  dress  I 
wore  upon  this  occasion.  I  am  very  sorry  to  disap- 
point any  who  have  counted  upon  a  blaze  of  diamonds, 


134  AT   AXCHOE. 

but  truth  compels  me  to  state  that  my  dress  was  a 
gray  trayelling-dress,  very  slightly  trimmed  with  blue, 
and  that  I  had  my  hair  plain,  ready  for  my  bonnet, 
which  had  not  then,  you  remember  given  place  to 
the  i^resent  jaunty  style  of  head-dress. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

I  WENT  home  to  the  North,  but  home  to  the  iSTorth 
did  not  bring  me  childhood  and  its  buoyancy,  and  I 
was  still  a  weary  woman,  fighting  something  I  called 
fate,  but  which  others,  if  they  knew,  would  call  my 
perverse  will. 

I  had  a  trial  I  had  not  anticipated;  the  world, 
my  world,  saw  proper  to  go  into  raptures  over  my 
husband,  so  good,  so  brave,  so  accomplished!  One 
would  have  supposed  they  wondered  how  he  ever 
chose  me.  Then  I  was  told,  at  every  step,  of  his  in- 
dulgence, his  generosity,  and  his  kindness  to  me ;  no 
one  seemed  to  recognize  that  I  was  his  equal  as  well 
as  his  wife,  and  that  I  took  liberty  and  care  as  my 
due.  Are  our  men  savages  that  one  should  comment 
with  surprise  and  admiration  upon  their  every  ap- 
proach to  civilization  ? 

Oh!  what  aggravating  people  there  are  in  this 
world  !  People  with  their  little  minds  and  theii'  rest- 
less tongues,  who  make  more  misery  than  wars  and 
famines   and  pestilences;   people   whom   you  cannot 


136  AT  anchor: 

challenge  to  fair  fight,  nor  satisfy  with  less  then  half 
your  happiness,  nor  dose,  nor  doctor,  nor  diet !  These 
were  the  people  that  widened  the  little  brook  between 
Carl  and  me,  until  it  became,  I  feared,  an  impassable 
river.  I  feared,  for,  strange  to  say,  I  had  not  yet 
learned  to  hate  my  husband  ;  I  was  not  even  careless 
of  his  love ;  whether  it  was  my  pride  or  my  vanity,  or 
some  unknown  emotion,  I  clung  to  his  love ;  I  was 
more  tenacious  of  it,  more  fearful  of  losing  it,  than  I 
could  have  been  had  I  loved  him.  To  have  Carl's 
heart  shut  to  me  as  mine  was  to  him,  was  the  one 
most  agonizing  thought  of  my  -  married  existence ; 
and  these  people,  with  their  homilies  and  their  excla- 
mations, their  raillery  at  Carl's  devotion,  and  their 
congratulations  to  both  of  us,  bade  fau'  to  realize  that 
burning  fear  of  mine.  I  knew  that  the  time  must 
come, — all  the  world  knows  it  finds  a  foothold  often 
even  where  love  has  been,  and  never  fails  to  reign  in 
the  unprotected  places  where  Love  has  never  set  up 
defences, — ^the  time  when  I  should  weary  of  Carl, 
should  hate  him  really,  long  to  have  him  out  of  my 
sight,  and  pray,  if  I  dared,  for  the  day  to  come  that 
would  remove  every  vestige  of  his  influence,  every 
sign  of  remembrance  out  of  my  life.  I  used  to  think, 
as  by  some  strange  fascination,  of  that  day,  and  to  pic- 
ture myself  bound  to  this  man  whom  I  no  longer  sim- 
ply endured,  but  actively  detested.  You  may  think  it 
drove  me  to  an  attempt  at  loving  him,  who  was  in 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIYIL  WAR.  137 

every  way  so  worthy  of  love,  but  I  bad  long  before 
resolved  I  could  not  love  bim ;  I  bad  married  bim 
witb  bis  eyes  and  mine  wide  open  to  tbe  fact;  of 
course  I  could  not  cbange. 

Few  people  will  fail  to  start  wben  I  call  tbat  sum- 
mer of  1860  a  Aveary  summer,  for  it  was  generally  a 
gay  season ;  more  people  went  traA^elling  tban  usual, 
and  as  tbey  were  warm  but  bealtby  montbs,  tbe  cbange 
of  air  and  cbange  of  scene  benefited  all  wbo  bad  tbem, 
and  looks  and  spirits  prospered  accordingly.  Wide- 
Awake  processions  made  tbe  nigbts  brilliant  outside, 
and  tbeatres  and  parties  kept  brilliancy  witbin.  People 
were  lively,  confident,  and  seemed  to  bold  money 
ligbtly  in  tbeir  bands.  How  many,  it  burts  my  beart 
to  tbink  bow  many,  took  tbeir  leave  of  joy,  and  ease, 
and  sunsbine  tbat  summer,  to  tbem  so  beautiful,  and 
forbearing  to  propbecy  augbt  tbat  could  dim  its  bright- 
ness. I  toiled  through  it  as  best  I  might ;  I  listened  to 
tbe  hollow  talk  of  those  around  me,  and  I  fiincied  I 
felt  what  prophets  feel,  wben  tbey  stand  within  the 
gates  of  a  city  unconscious  that  destruction  and  wrath 
is  coming  speedily. 

Carl  and  I  were  growing  more  and  more  distant  to 
each  other ;  the  constant  presence  of  visitors  at  my 
uncle's  bouse  kept  us  apart  during  a  greater  portion 
of  the  day,  and  when  we  found  ourselves,  without 
our  will,  in  each  other's  presence,  it  was  only  to  real- 
ize bow  far  we  were  from  tbat  happy  trust  which  the 


138  AT  anchoe: 

■world  imputed  to  us ;  and  we  sat  constrained  and  often 
long  silent,  trying  to  tMnk  of  things  to  say,  which,  if 
thought  and  said,  sounded  so  forced  and  hollow,  that 
we,  as  by  a  mutual  agreement,  came  at  last  to  give  up 
the  attemj^t  at  conversation.  I  think  Carl  had  greatly 
counted  on  my  visit  'N'orth  to  bring  us  closer  together, 
by  throwing  me  more  upon  his  care ;  but  it  had  had 
the  oi^posite  effect,  and  we  were  both  wearied  nigh 
unto  death.  And  now  Carl  no  longer  sought  my 
love ;  more  and  more  I  saw  he  no  longer  let  his  eyes 
rest  on  me  with  wistful  tenderness,  and  that  more  and 
more  he  grew  abstracted  and  self-absorbed.  It  was 
easy  to  see  how  it  would  end, — indifference  on  his 
part,  hatred  on  mine.  I  was  not  yet  twenty-five  years 
old,  and  the  prospect  was  not  a  pleasant  one.  My 
husband, — through  all  he  would  be  my  husband  still, — 
might  replace  me  with  enthusiasm  for  his  country,  but 
I  had  nothing  to  put  where  his  love  had  been ;  and 
while  every  hour  that  love  was  slipping  like  sand 
through  my  fingers,  the  world  ciied  out,  "  Oh,  incom- 
parable pair !     Oh,  noble  husband  and  devoted  wife ! " 

Just  about  so  much  does  this  world  know ! 

Of  my  old  friends  nearly  all  were  as  I  left  them. 
Kate  was  not  married,  and  was  travelling  somewhere 
•among  the  mountains ;  Mr.  Stuart  was  in  business  in 
New  York ;  Mary  Allen  and  Emma  Lewis  were  both 
in  convents ;  Emma,  among  the  Sisters  of  Charity.  I 
went  to  see  her ;  I  love  these  dear,  Martha-like  sisters. 


A   STOET   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  139 

There  is  magic  in  the  very  tones  of  their  voice,  mag- 
netism in  the  touch  of  their  hands, — those  patient, 
never  idle  hands ;  and  comfort  comes  with  every  step 
of  those  willing  feet  vowed  to  walk  in  ways  of  sin  and 
sorrow  and  pain,  untouched,  unhurt,  as  the  children  in 
the  fiery  furnace. 

"  How  did  it  come  into  your  mind  ? "  I  asked 
Emma. 

"  I  thought  of  it  first,"  she  answered,  "  that  night 
at  your  uncle's,  when  we  went  in  to  see  Mary  Allen, 
do  you  remember?  and  for  a  while  I  thought  of  it  as  a 
pleasant  dream,  until  it  grew  a  longing,  then  a  hope. 
I  am  a  woman  too  much  after  the  manner  of  Martha, 
and  it  was  natural  I  should  choose  to  join  the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  who  have  the  love  and  the  faith  of  Mary 
and  the  activity  and  solicitude  of  Martha.  There  is 
nothing, — I  mean  when  I  was  in  the  world, — nothing 
touched  me  more  than  the  simple  unafiTectedness  of 
these  dear  Sisters  ;  there  is  no  bitterness,  no  contempt 
real  or  assumed,  of  the  world  they  have  left ;  it  was  a 
good  world,  they  say,  and  they  liked  it,  but  they  liked 
this  life  better ;  they  are  still  a  part  of  the  world,  still 
toiling  in  it,  still  breathing  its  air,  though  purified  by 
prayer  and  good  works.  Another  thing  which  is 
characteristic  of  our  Sisters,  they  never  affect  to  have 
been  any  thing  while  in  that  world  ;  there  are  no  half- 
dropped  sentences,  no  conscious  glances,  no  affected 
interest  or  indifference  which  intimates, — I  once  was  a 


140  AT  AlfCHOK: 

lady  with  all  these  things  that  delight  you,  and  more 
than  these  at  my  command.  Our  Sisters  have  forgot- 
ten they  ever  lived  a  life  of  gaiety  and  of  fashion ; 
simply  and  quietly  they  have  put  on  the  dress  of  the 
Sisterhood,  and  if  worn  with  old-time  elegance,  or  with 
unaccustomed  awkwardness,  it  is  the  same." 

"  You  are  right,  Emma ;  I  have  seen  these  things, 
too.  God  bless  dear  Mother  Seton,  who  brought  these 
dear  black  caps  to  show  us  what  women  may  be  ! 
These  little  things  are  mighty  indexes,  and  they  are  so 
winning  that  one  thinks  no  more  than  the  lady  her- 
self of  her  position  passed,  but  sees  in  her  only  a  min- 
isteiing  angel,  sweeter  and  lovelier  in  her  charity  than 
all  the  gold  and  gems  of  earth  could  make  her  with- 
out. If  any  thing  should  ever  happen  to  Carl,  I  shall 
come  here  for  rest,  rest,  the  blessed,  blessed  word  !  " 

"  And  you  will  not  come  in  vain,  Georgie  ;  a  nun's 
life  would  kill  you  I  am  sure,  but  our  sisterhood  will 
use  all  your  talents  and  fulfil  all  your  ambitions;  there 
is  no  stagnation  here.  I  am  teaching  now ;  by  and  by, 
after  I  have  taken  the  black  veil,  I  may  be  sent  to 
some  hospital.  I  long  for  that ;  my  work  is  too  easy 
here ;  this  sentiment,  however,  lays  me  open  to  self- 
commendation  ;  the  first  lesson  we  learn  here  is  sub- 
mission. And  now,  Georgie,  of  yourself;  do  you  like 
the  South  ?  What  a  question  to  ask,  as  if  you  would 
not  like  a  desert  now.^"* 

"  Not  in  the  least  should  I  like  a  desert,  married 


A   STORY   OP   OTTR   CIVIL   WAR.  141 

or  unmarried.  I  like  the  South  as  well  as  I  expected ; 
my  life  is  very  quiet  and  monotonous ;  nothing  ever 
happens  ;  my  husband  is  never  sick,  and  I  am  always 
well,  so  we  are  spared  even  the  small  excitement  of  an 
occasional  visit  from  the  coxmtry  doctor." 

"Is  there  not  more  than  usual  excitement  about 
the  elections  ?  I  hear  the  school  girls  talking  about 
them  occasionally." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  great  deal ;  the  South  threatens  to 
secede  if  an  abolition  President  is  elected.  Do  not 
imagine,  Emma,  if  you  were  fifty  times  a  nun,  that  you 
have  no  duty  left  to  your  race  and  your  country;  the 
smallest  duty  you  have  is  that  of  intere.st ;  you  are  to 
teach  not  merely  a  b  ab,  and  2  and  2  are  4,  but  to 
teach  that  fidelity  to  God  absolutely  requires  loyalty 
to  our  country,  a  loyalty  that  binds  women  as  well  as 
men.  Sisters  of  Charity  as  well  as  members  of  the 
Cabinet,  girls  at  school  and  men  in  business,  all  ages 
and  classes.  A  Catholic  priest  has  no  more  right  to 
give  absolution  for  disloyalty  unrepentant,  than  for 
robbery  or  perjury.     You  do  not  forget  these  things  ?  " 

"  I  may  be  a  Sister  of  Charity,"  Emma  said,  "  but 
I  have  not  lost  my  country  or  my  sex.  More  than 
ever  am  I  taught  to  do  my  duty  scrupulously,  and 
next  to  my  God  is  my  duty  to  my  country." 

"  You  are  a  true,  good  woman,  Emma,  and  1  see 
that  you  will  be  elevated,  not  repressed,  by  this 
change  in  your  life.     I  am  going  to  say  good-bye  to 


142  AT  anchor: 

you  now,  God  only  knows  when  I  shall  see  you  again, 
for  no  one  knows  what  may  happen  within  a  year,  nor 
where  I  may  be,  nor  what  wounded  men,  Northern  or 
Southern,  you  may  be  nursing.  Pray  for  me,  Emma ; 
I  have  some  trials,  I  am  hard  and  sadly  in  need  of 
softening  grace." 

So  I  left  Emma,  one  out  of  my  old  circle  of  friends, 
joyous  and  contented.  Mary  Allen  I  did  not  see  ;  she 
belonged  to  a  community  of  nuns  who  lived  entirely 
within  their  convent  walls,  and  lacked  the  genial  light- 
heartedness  of  the  Sisters,  and  I  had  no  desire  to  see 
Mary  growing  "old  and  formal,  fitted  to  her  petty 
part." 

My  Cousin  Florence,  to  my  Aunt  Graham's  un- 
bounded satisfaction,  was  married  to  a  wealthy  Xew 
York  merchant.  Hal  was  pursuing  some  other  idol 
with  the  same  ardor  with  which  he  had  at  one  time 
followed  Mary  Allen.  I  saw  Hal;  he  was  fast  ap- 
proaching that  period  in  the  life  of  a  gay  young 
bachelor  when  the  portion  of  parties  that  comes  before 
supper,  proves  very  tedious,  when  sweet  eyes  and 
graceful  forms  no  more  delight,  when  the  last  novel 
becomes  stupid,  the  new  singer  a  flat,  and  things  alto- 
gether a  bore,  or  as  Mantalini  elegantly  observes,  a 
derrCd  horrid  grind. 

Uncle  Tom,  dear  Uncle  Tom,  how  much  he  loved 
me  !  was  the  same  hospitable  old  bachelor  as  before, 
but  he  complained  bitterly  that  Kate  never  gave  him 


A   STORY    OF    OUK    CIVIL   WAR.  143 

a  decent  cup  of  tea.  He  joined  my  husband  in  his 
solicitations  to  me  to  remain  at  the  North  during  the 
winter;  not  that  he  believed  there  would  be  any- 
trouble — for  he  pooh !  poohed  !  the  idea — but  to  ease 
Carl's  mind,  he  said. 

I  was  not  so  fierce  against  staying  as  I  had  been, 
for  Carl  was  now  so  distantly,  politely  kind  to  me,  that 
I  sometimes  half  fancied  he  wished  me  out  of  his  way, 
for  his  sake  as  well  as  for  my  own.  Sometimes  I 
thought  if  he  were  separated  from  me  the  old  love,  the 
old  yearning,  would  spring  up  in  the  absence,  and  make 
him  again  my  lover ;  but  there  was  a  possibility  that 
he  might  like  his  freedom  better  and  better,  and  that 
the  separation  begun  in  affection  might  end  in  life-long 
estrangement.  You  know  I  had  not  yet  reached  the 
point  in  our  lives  when  I  was  to  hate  Carl,  and  so  this 
possibility  frightened  me, — I  could  be  frightened, — and 
made  me  shrink  from  the  dreadful  picture  of  myself,  a 
mark  for  every  one's  wonder  and  astonishment :  a 
woman  neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow.  Considerable 
of  the  old  spirit  had  died  out ;  I  could  think  in  quite  a 
listless  way  of  Carl's  going  alone  into  danger  and 
death,  and  of  myself  resting  in  peace  and  security ; 
for  after  all,  I  was  not  sure  I  could  make  the  danger 
and  death  less  real  and  sorrowful  by  my  presence. 

You  must  not  think  Carl  was  unkind  to  me,  for  he 
was  only  too  kind ;  every  arrangement  was  made  with 
special  reference  to  my  will  and  pleasure.     He  him- 


144  AT  anchoe: 

self  was  ahvays  at  my  disposal  to  go  or  come  as  I 
chose,  and  he  intended  to  prove  himself  kinder  still, 
by  never  asking  me  of  my  heart  any  more  than  he 
would  had  I  been  another  man's  wife,  a  deference  tliat 
was  gall  and  wormwood  to  me.  How  could  I  break  it  ? 
I  certainly  could  not  say,  "  Carl,  make  love  to  me." 
I  could  but  wait,  patiently  as  long  as  I  could,  then  in 
ano'cr  and  indig^nation. 

Partly  because  I  thought  it  might  move  him,  and 
partly  because  I  cared,  or  thought  I  cared  very  little 
what  became  of  me,  I  yielded,  coldly  enough,  to  their 
wishes,  and  said,  that  as  my  duty  was  to  obey  my 
husband,  I  would  of  course  remain  at  the  North  if  he 
wished  it. 

"  I  do  wish  it,"  he  said. 

"  I  submit,  of  course,"  I  answered,  and  turned  back 
to  my  book. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  you,"  my  husband  said, 
when  we  were  alone,  "  but  I  must  insist  upon  your 
remaining  here ;  I  am  confident  there  will  be  war  be- 
tween the  two  sections,  and  the  safer  place  will  be  the 
North,  and  the  happiest  place,  certainly,  for  you  whose 
sympathies  are  with  the  North." 

"  I  thought  we  had  settled  the  question  before  we 
left  Charleston.  I  was  not  aware,  nor  did  I  in  the 
least  suspect  the  trip  North  which  was  to  give  me  so 
much  pleasure,  was  intended  merely  as  a  trap  to  lure 
me  here  and  leave  me." 


A   STOKY    OF    OUE   CIVIL   WAE.  146 

"  It  was  not  intended  to  leave  you ;  but  since  I 
have  been  here  I  have  learned  the  insecurity  of  a  home 
at  the  South,  and  it  has  made  me  most  anxious  to  have 
you  left  here." 

"  You  are  very  solicitous  about  my  happiness." 

"  I  wish  to  do  for  you  the  little  that  I  can.  I 
know  I  once  thought  it  in  my  power  to  minister  more 
fully  to  it,  but  I  know  now  that  I  must  be  grateful  if 
I  can  secure  you  against  bodily  discomforts." 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  any  more,"  I  forced 
myself  to  say. 

"What  is  my  love  to  you?  A  constant  annoy- 
ance, a  source  of  vexation  to  us  both.  Perhaps 
when  we  see  each  other  again  we  may  understand 
each  other  better ;  I  shall  pray  God  that  it  may  be  so, 
as  I  never  prayed  for  any  thing  before." 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty  to  you,  Carl." 

"  Only  too  well ;  but  it  is  no  pleasure  to  me, — rather 
a  pain, — to  be  the  cause  of  so  much  constraint  to  you. 
I  must  go  back  early  to-morrow  ;  you  know,  of  course, 
that  if  at  any  hour  your  present  home  wearies  you  I 
will  come  for  you,  be  it  through  what  it  may." 

"  You  are  an  excellent  husband,  Mr.  Aberthnay ;  a 
lady  told  me  the  other  day  that  for  dressing  in  style, 
and  attending  to  my  wishes,  you  were  unrivalled.  I 
shall  not  write  for  you  to  come ;  you  can  choose  your 
own  time  ;  this  home  has  always  been  a  pleasant  one 
to  me," 

1 


146  AT  AJS^CHOE  : 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  I  have  arranged  the  money- 
affairs  with  your  uncle." 

A  pang  went  through  my  heart.  "  It  sounds  as  if 
you  meant  to  leave  me  forever,"  I  said. 

"  !N^ot  at  all,  only  until  such  time  as  you  say.  It  is 
not  safe  for  you  at  the  South." 

"  Then  I  am  decidedly  to  remain  ?  " 

"  You  are  your  own  mistress,  of  course,  but  it  is 
my  wish  that  you  should  do  so."  And  he  took  up  a 
book.  I  sat  some  time  in  silence,  then  I  went  into  the 
next  room,  our  sitting-room,  dimly  lighted  from  the 
light  in  the  room  I  had  left. 

My  thoughts  were  intensely  bitter ;  I  could  only 
believe  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  the  two  kinds 
of  pride,  the  pride  that  would  not  force  myself  on  him, 
and  the  pride  that  would  not  be  flung  aside  like  a 
broken  plaything,  chased  each  other  through  my  mind, 
while  I  lay  on  a  lounge  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
room,  and  watched  my  husband  in  the  clearer  light, 
reading  just  as  I  had  left  liim.  Very  handsome,  even  to 
a  degree  that  might  be  called  beautiful,  was  my  hus- 
band ;  fair,  very  fair,  mth  eyes  as  blue  as  a  summer 
sky, — ^bluer  still,  more  like  that  sky  in  its  deep  starry 
splendor, — eyes  that  could  glow  with  love,  scorch  with 
contempt,  freeze  with  coldness,  kill  with  indifference  ; 
eyes  that,  unstin-ed  by  any  thought  of  the  morrow's 
parting,  read  quietly  wbile  I  lay  and  inwardly  writhed. 
Over  and  over  again  with  a  persistency  that  angered 
me  ran  through  my  mind  those  lines  in  the  Princess : 


A   STORY    OP    OUE   CIVIL    WAK.  147 

"  Oh,  tell  her,  Swallow,  thou  that  knowest  each, 
That  bright  and  fierce  and  fickle  is  the  South, 
And  dark  and  true  and  tender  is  the  Xorth." 

Bright  fierce  and  fickle  though  he  might  be,  I  resolved 
he  should  not  escape  me ;  stay  I  might  until  he  had 
gone,  and  then  I  would  go  too ;  I  would  track  him 
night,  noontide,  and  morn,  in  some  disguise  always 
near  him,  not  from  love,  but  pride,  the  pride  that 
hated  him  who  oppressed  it  so. 

I  knew  an  evil  spirit  possessed  me,  and  I  tried  the 
charms  of  music  to  exorcise  it ;  but  it  moved  neither 
the  evil  spirit  nor  my  calm  husband  reading  in  the 
library,  for  I  could  hear  the  slightest  rustle  of  his 
book,  although  the  change  of  my  position  hid  from 
my  view  his  Roman-like  face.  By  and  by  out  of  my 
irresolute  chords  there  was  moulded  an  air,  and  out  of 
my  restless  thoughts  some  words  that  sung  as  I  sung 
them  had  both  point  and  force,  though  weak  enough, 
perhaps,  as  I  give  them  now,  unpolished,  or  in  any 
way  bettered  from  that  rough  dash : 

"  Oh,  jour  sternness  becomes  you  well,  mon  br^ve, 

And  goes  to  my  poor  heart. 
And  cuts  with  agony  too  deep  to  tell 

So  well  you  act  your  part. 
I'm  grieving  in  a  sad,  sad  maze,  mon  br^ve, 

I'm  but  a  woman  weak. 
One  on  whom  it  is  but  only  right  and  just 

You  should  your  vengeance  wreak. 


148  AT   ANCHOR. 

"  I  hold  my  heart  'neath  aching  lids,  mon  br^ve, 

Once  mine  you  called  sweet  eyes, 
Now  must  they  weep  if  coldly  he  but  bids, 

To  whom  their  duty  lies. 
I've  prayed  to  God  that  I  might  die,  mon  br^ve. 

No  more  to  mar  thy  life ; 
I've  prayed  in  my  white  shroud  to  lie,  mon  br^ve, 

No  more  to  move  thy  strife." 

Before  I  had  finished  I  heard  my  husband  lay- 
down  his  book,  then  he  came  across  the  room  and 
stood  by  me. 

"  Georgie,"  he  said,  standing  there,  "  I  cannot  bear 
it,  not  even  for  your  good.  Will  you  go  back  with 
me?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  wiU." 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

We  were  back  South  just  before  the  elections ;  the 
excitement  was  terrible,  but  I  liked  it  better  than  the 
old  calm.  Men  like  my  husband  who  looked  deeply 
and  were  prepared  for  the  worst,  were  the  only  calm 
men  one  met ;  the  women  were  fierce  for  war,  for  war, 
as  we  read  of  it,  is  romantic  enough,  and  in  our  long, 
luxurious  peace  how  could  we  realize  its  horrors? 
My  husband  had  had  me  do  enough  shopping,  while 
at  the  Xorth,  to  last  us  for  a  ten  years'  siege,  it  seem- 
ed ;  and  now  he  was  busy  superintending  every  thing 
on  the  plantation  himself.  Courteously  and  tenderly 
he  cared  for  me ;  but  it  was  with  the  chivalry  of  an 
old-time  knight  for  the  lady  under  his  protection,  more 
than  the  ardent  love  for  her  whose  colors  he  wore. 
He  built  every  manner  of  defence  around  me,  but 
never  wai-ned  me,  cautioned,  or  denied  me  in  any 
thing.  When  he  went  up  to  Charleston  in  the  winter 
he  attempted  no  remonstrances  against  my  accom- 
panying him,  although  I  was  sure  he  knew  there  were 
dangers  at  every  step  for  me  there.     Mostly  all  of 


150  AT  axchoe: 

those  of  Northern  principles  Avho  could,  had  already 
left  the  South ;  in  the  country  towns  a  few  had  been 
forced  away ;  and  as  yiolent  demonstrations  were  not 
modified  for  the  sake  either  of  rank  or  sex,  it  was 
wonderful  that  I  walked  as  safely  as  I  did. 

A-  great  many  sad  scenes  passed  under  my  eyes,  in 
which  I  could  not  interfere.  I  saw  one,  one  day  as  I 
was  passing  by  one  of  the  hotels,  shutting  my  ears  as 
best  I  could  to  the  swearing;  crowd  which  had  coUect- 
ed  on  its  steps.  A  "  Yankee "  was  being  examined 
by  the  self-constituted  court  of  inquiry,  pretty  cer- 
tain of  the  sentence  usually  given  to  all  "  spies,"  or 
those  suspected  of  being  opposed  to  the  South.  Just 
as  I  came  near  the  little  knot  of  men,  the  victim, 
whom  I  could  not  see,  appeared  to  have  succeeded  in 
imposing  a  kind  of  silence  upon  them,  and  to  be 
addressing  them  in  his  own  defence.  Something  in 
the  matter  or  manner  of  his  language  made  me  pass 
very  slowly  by. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  not  a  spy,"  he  was  saying ;  "  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  23ublic  affairs ;  I  came  here  on 
my  own  private  account ;  I  have  seen  nor  heard  noth- 
ing that  I  care  to  remember.  My  ears  and  eyes  have 
been  only  for  one  whom  I  came  here  to  find,  and  whom 
I  must  find." 

This  was  as  much  as  they  allowed  him  to  say ;  but 
even  the  Xorthem  accent  would  have  won  me,  so  obey- 
ing an  impulse  I  stopped  and  looked  at  the  crowd,  who 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  151 

were  laughing  and  swearing  heartily;  fortunately  I 
recognized  among  them  a  man  who  had  done  spme 
work  for  my  husband. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Taylor  ?  "  I  asked  of  him. 

"  Only  another  spy;  we're  going  to  give  him  a  lit- 
tle airing,  ma'am." 

"It's  very  foolish,"  I  said.  "What  is  one  man, 
especially  one  man  who  does  not  care  for  either  side  ? 
Yes,"  I  continued,  seeing  I  had  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  one  or  two  others,  "  it  is  very  foolish ;  such 
things  won't  frighten  the  Yankees ;  it  will  only  make 
them  mad  for  nothing.  Wait  until  old  Sumter  comes 
down  if  you  want  to  scare  them.  This  man  can't 
hurt  us.  Let  him  find  her ;  "  I  said  Tier  designedly ; 
"there's  a  kind  of  romance  in  every  man's  heart.  We 
shall  have  work  enough  by  and  by ;  who  minds  one 
man?" 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  one  asked. 

"  I  have  never  even  seen  him,"  I  answered,;  "  but  I 
want  you  to  keep  your  fight  for  better  use." 

Two  or  three  grumbled,  one  or  tvro  laughed,  and 
they  all  stared;  one  spit  out  his  tobacco  juice  and 

swore  I  was  right :  "  The  d d  Yank  might  go  to 

hell  and  be  d d  for  all  he  cared." 

I  gave  this  one  some  money  to  drink  confusion  to 
the  Yankees,  and  with  one  or  two  jests  and  threats  the 
group  separated,  to  straggle  into  the  bar-room.  As 
soon  as  they  were  gone  I  went  back  to  the  man,  and 


152  AT  axchoe: 

spoke  to  hira,  "  Do  not  trust  to  a  second  chance  of  this 
or  any  kind.  These  men  will  soon  be  back,  mad  with 
liquor ;  there  will  be  no  rescue  then.  I  do  not  know 
who  you  are,  but  I  will  do  for  you  what  I  can.  Go  to 
the  next  street.  I  will  drive  and  meet  you  there;  and 
if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  let  me  send  you  at 
once  to  leave  the  city.  You  have  not  an  instant  to 
lose ;  do  not  lose  time  talking  thanks ;  for  the  sake  of 
the  little  a  Southern  woman  has  been  able  to  do  for 
you,  go  back  and  speak  with  as  little  bitterness  as 
possible  of  the  South." 

As  soon  as  I  had  rapidly  spoken  these  words,  we 
separated  to  meet  again  as  I  had  arranged.  The  car- 
riage had  been  left  at  a  store  where  I  found  it ;  at  my 
hasty  gesture  the  stranger  entered  it,  and  I — I  had  no 
choice — followed.  I  expected  to  save  him,  having 
commenced,  and  I  knew  a  private  carriage,  especially 
with  a  lady  in  it,  was  protection. 

When  we  were  face  to  face,  and  the  carriage  had 
started,  I  for  the  first  time  really  looked  at  my  com- 
panion's face. 

It  was  Gilbert. 

I  thought  I  had  forgotten  having  first  hated  him ; 
for  a  moment  I  remembered  him  intensely ;  the  next 
I  remembered  all  that  stood  between. 

"  You  haA'e  done  a  strangely  rash  thing,  oh  man 
of  exceeding  great  calmness  ! "  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied ;  "  but  it  has  repaid  me  well, 


A    6T0KY    OF    OUR   CIVIL    WAK.  153 

and  I  owe  you  my  life.    I  owe  you  more  than  my  life; 
I  owe  you  joy  that  you  did  this  thing,  and  for — me." 

"  I  did  not  know  you,  did  not  dream  who  you 
were  until  five  minutes  ago." 

"  And  had  you  known,  would  you  have  left  me  to 
their  mercy  ?  " 

I  felt  his  dark  eyes  bent  upon  me,  burning  into 
mine,  as  of  old  ;  heroes  have  faced  death  with  less 
courage  than  I  fa-ced  him  there. 

"  I  could  not  do  less  for  an  old  friend  than  for  a 
stranger,"  I  answered  quietly  ;  "  but  I  should  scarcely 
have  succeeded  so  well  had  I  known  you.  We  are  go- 
ing now  to  my  home ;  supposing  you  a  stranger,  I  in- 
tended leaving  you  here,  where  there  is  moderate 
safety ;  but  as  it  is,  I  prefer  to  go  home,  and  then  let 
Jack  take  care  of  you.  You  see  I  look  upon  it  as  a 
matter  of  course  that  you  will  leave  the  city  at  once. 
If  there  is  any  thing  toward  the  accomplishment  of 
your  work  here  that  either  Mr.  Aberthnay  or  I  can  do, 
do  not  hesitate  to  command  us." 

"I  have  found  the  one  I  sought  in  finding  you,"  he 
returned,  "  and  am  now  willing  enough  to  go.  It  is 
true  the  last  words  I  heard  from  you  were  of  well  de- 
served hatred;  but  feeling  confident  you  have  been 
too  happy  in  your  new  relations  to  cherish  any  but 
kind  and  forgiving  feelings  toward  your  old  acquaint- 
ances, I  ventured  to  come  to  you  in  place  of  your  un- 
cle, who  is  rendered  very  infirm  by  his  late  accident, 
1* 


154  AT  anchor: 

yet  who,  nevertheless,  Tvas  resolved  some  appeal 
should  be  made  to  you,  some  assistance  given  you  to 
leave  this  accursed  city,  for  it  is  terrible  to  think  of 
the  trials  of  body  and  mind  that  must  beset  you  here. 
You  of  the  South  are  deceiving  yourselves  with  the 
belief  that  the  Xorth  will  not  fight.  I  tell  you  the 
North  will  fight,  and  fight  with  a  force  and  persistency 
such  as  the  world  has  not  lately  seen.  You  at  the 
South  are  rushing  headlong  to  your  destruction ;  we 
at  the  !N'orth  are  quiet  in  the  consciousness  of  power. 
For  what  has  the  South,  with  the  curse  of  treason 
upon  its  head,  to  oppose  to  the  legions  of  the  North, 
strong  in  the  knowledge  of  right  and  loyalty  ?  There 
is  no  safety  anywhere  in  the  South  for'Xorthern  men 
or  Northern  principles ;  even  Mr.  Aberthnay's  influ- 
ence cannot  make  you  secure,  after  the  storm  bursts, 
if  you  remain  ti'ue  to  your  country,  and  it  is  not  m 
your  nature  to  be  false  to  it.  Your  mind  is  too  clear 
a  mind  to  be  deceived  by  any  secession  sophistry ;  you 
know  very  well  your  duty  to  the  nation  before  the 
State ;  you  cannot  blind  yourself  by  any  States  Rights' 
arguments, — the  cursed  heresy  that  threatens  the  life 
of  our  Constitution,  that  has  been  fed  and  fostered, 
cherished  and  petted,  until  it  has  grown  strong  enough 
to  poison,  adder-like,  the  hands  that  forbore  to  kill  it 
in  its  infancy.  If  ever  you  desert  your  country  and 
league  with  her  enemies,  you  must  do  it  with  your 
eyes  open  to  the  crime.     Surely  you  will  not  do  it. 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  165 

Too  well  I  remember  you  as  a  brave  girl  praying 
for  a  martyr's  trials.  I  have  heard  you  too  eloquently 
and  too  powerfully  upholding  adherence  to  principle 
through  all  things,  to  believe  you  will  do  the  thing 
you  have  so  often  scorned,  yield  right  to  expediency." 

"I  do  not  need  to  be  told  my  duty,"  was  all  the 
reply  I  could  force  myself  to  make. 

"I  know  it,  dear  Miss  Yane ;  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  addressing  you  by  the  old  name.  And  knowing 
your  duty,  how  can  you  stay  here  ?  It  is  madness  to 
attempt  it ;  folly  to  refase  safety.  We  are  just  learn- 
ing, the  best  of  us,  what  it  means  to  love  our  country, 
to  love  its  flag.  We  find  it  inspires  a  love  as  passion- 
ate and  intense  as  any  possible  emotion ;  by  and  by 
you  will  hunger  and  thirst  to  stand  under  the  folds  of 
our  stars  and  stripes,  when,  perhaps,  it  will  be  too 
late.  For  the  sake  of  that  old  flag,  for  the  sake  of  the 
family  ties  it  suggests,  if  not  the  principles  it  repre- 
sents, come  back  to  it.  I  cannot  tell  how  small  you 
were  when  I  first  held  you  up  to  see  it  floating  from 
Bunker  Hill  and  Fanuiel  Hall  on  national  holidays ; 
nor  how  many  years  before  you  could  add  two  and 
two  together  we  tried,  you  and  I,  to  count  how  many 
flags  we  could  see  from  steeple  and  spire,  and  how 
many  stars  each  one  held.  Can  you  bear  to  feel  you 
can  never  look  upon  that  flag  again  excej^t  as  an  enemy 
and  an  outcast  ?  Come  back  to  it,  Georgie,  while  you 
can ;  do  not  stand  apart  from  it  in  its  hour  of  trial. 


156  AT   Ai^^CHOK: 

We  never  had  a  sorrow  or  a  wrong  that  it  did  not  at- 
tempt to  redress;  we  had  never  a  thought  but 
of  all  rightful  freedom  under  it,  and  it  made  us  pros- 
perous, free, and  happy  at  home,  and  honored  abroad; 
shall  we  desert  it  now  ?  Can  you, — you  born  in  the 
very  dearest  home  of  Liberty,  in  the  proud  mansion 
of  our  country's  favorite  sons, — can  you,  with  your 
dauntless  will  and  heart,  fear  to  act  according  to  your 
convictions  ? 

"  This  is  the  terror  that  almost  paralyzes  your 
uncle ;  the  terror  that  exists  whichever  way  you  de- 
cide. If  you  retain  your  principles,  we  dare  not  think 
of  the  consequences  to  you  here ;  if  you  are  false  to 
them,  what  will  be  the  consequences  in  the  great  here- 
after ?  At  home  in  the  Xorth,  duty  and  convenience 
will  walk  hand  in  hand ;  you  will  hear  only  the  brave 
words  of  loyalty, — see  only  the  glorious  deeds  of 
rightful  government.  I  held  your  uncle's  hand  in 
mine,  and  promised  I  would  never  return  alive  to  him 
until  I  had  seen  you,  and  with  all  my  power  and  will 
had  begged  you  to  leave  this  city  of  traitors.  Your 
uncle  again  and  again  made  me  return  to  him  to  add 
some  argument  or  entreaty  to  those  already  given  me  in 
trust  for  you.  He  told  me  how  every  spot  of  ground, 
every  room  in  the  house,  bears  marks  of  your  late  pre- 
sence, speaks  to  him  of  you ;  and  how  can  he  ever  bear 
to  see  them  with  the  knowledge  that  you  have  turned 
traitor  to  all  that  he  taught  you  to  love  and  reverence? 


I  A   STORT    OF    OFR   CIVIL   WAH.  157 

How  can  he,  proud  as  he  has  ever  been  of  you, 
bear  the  sneers  of  envious  souls,  the  scorn  of  noble 
minds,  and  his  own  bitter  knowledge  that  you  have 
deserted  your  country  and  leagued  with  its  enemies  ? 
It  will  amount  to  that  if  you  stay  now;  you  know  it 
will." 

"  I  have  listened  to  you  without  interruption,"  I 
said,  "  not  because  I  have  heard  or  expected  to  hear 
an  argument  or  a  plea  my  own  heart  has  not  already 
made,  but  because  you  shall  not  say  I  feared  to  listen. 
I  will  not  say  how  I  may  be  tried,  nor  if  I  shall  pass 
through  the  trial  without  denying  my  faith ;  but  this  I 
I  can  and  will  say,  that  I  shall  never  violate  my  own 
sense  of  right  so  far  as  to  leave  the  man  I  took  at 
God's  altar  for  my  husband,  until  he  hiinself  forces 
me  to  leave  him ;  and  he  shall  never  force  me  until  he 
has  first  learned  to  hate  me.  He  is  mine,  and  I  am 
his  ;  if  he  were  a  robber  or  a  murderer  I  should  not 
desert  him,  no  more  shall  I  now.  My  home  is  with 
him,  and  here  I  stay,  making  my  two  duties  harmonize 
if  I  can,  if  not — " 

"  You  cannot,  and  your  first  duty  is  to  your  coun- 
try. Mr.  Aberthnay  himself  always  wished  you  to 
remain  with  your  uncle  imtil  there  was  quiet  again. 
Say  only  that  if  he  wishes  it  you  will  leave,  and  I  will 
take  you  safely  to  your  old  home ;  or,  as  that  does  not 
please  you,  I  will  carry  back  your  promise,  and  gain- 
ing it  leave  you  at  once,  and  forever  if  you  say  so. 


158  •  AT  anchor: 

Say  that  you  will,  Georgie,  for  the  sake  of  your  friends, 
your  name,  your  character,  your  principles,  your  coun- 
try, your  religion,  and  your  God,  for  they  all  ask  it ; 
say  you  will  return." 

"  I  have  given  my  answer,"  I  said,  as  we  left  the 
carriage,  and  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  at  my  own  door.  "  My  car- 
riage is  now  at  your  service  ;  do  not  think  of  returning 
for  any  thing  to  the  hotel,  but  get  out  of  the  city  to- 
night, if  possible ;  you  must  make  it  possible.  Tell 
them  at  home  that  the  South  is  firm,  and  a  hundred 
times  stronger  than  they  think, — tell  them  that  what- 
ever I  do,  they  need  not  blush  for  me.  I  thank  them 
all  that  they  remember  me  still ;  I  tbank  you,  too, 
Mr.  Stuart,  for  the  efibrt  you  have  made.  Whatever 
happens,  whatever  they  hear  of  me  at  home,  let  them 
not  dare  judge  me ;  and  you,  Gilbert,  you  must  not 
reproach  me,  even  now." 

He  bent  down  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  and 
quietly  said :  "  You  shall  not  be  judged  nor  reproach- 
ed ;  but  I  had  rather  you  had  left  me  to  the  mercy  of 
those  men,  than  that  from  your  own  words  I  should 
learn  the  mission  which  I  risked  my  life  to  fulfil  should 
have  failed." 

I  turned  to  the  house,  and  he  Avalked  deliberately 
to  the  carriage,  whose  hurrying  wheels  sounded  like 
the  angry  threatenings  of  fate  as  they  rumbled  along 
the  seemingly  deserted  street. 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  159 

I  had  been  victor  in  the  contest,  it  is  true,  but  it 
was  a  victory  clearly  won.  It  was  an  hour  or  two  before 
I  felt  myself  able  to  meet  my  husband,  who  had  come 
home  some  few  minutes  after  I  had  left  Gilbert. 

I  found  him  in  the  library,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  folded  arms,  and  his  arms  on  the  table.  He 
scarcely  looked  at  me  as  I  entered,  which  was  strange, 
for  he  always  received  me  as  politely,  and  with  almost 
as  much  ceremony,  as  if  I  had  been  a  visitor.  I  felt 
tenderer  toward  him  for  the  struggles  I  had  been 
through  that  afternoon ;  but  I  said  only  a  few  com- 
monplace words,  as  I  made  some  little  changes  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  curtains  and  the  furniture. 

"  So,"  he  said  to  me  at  last,  "  so  you  have  come 
out  as  a  public  speaker,  have  you  ?  And  for  the  benefit 
of  Gilbert  Stuart ;  it  is  very  interesting,  indeed  it  has 
quite  a  touch  of  romance  in  it.  And  what,  I  wonder, 
is  Mr.  Gilbert  Stuart  doing  here ;  he'd  a  great  deal 
better  be  at  home  ploughing  his  old  Massachusetts 
farm.  Very  likely  he  would  like  to  take  you  home 
with  him, — why  not  go  ?  " 

Poor  fellow !  how  he  must  have  suffered  before 
he  could  insult  me  ! 

"  Why  ?     Because  my  husband  is  here." 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  fault ;  I  who  brought  you  to  this ; 
I  who  keep  you  here.  Why  did  I  ever  enter  your 
uncle's  house  and  partake  of  his  hospitality  to  return 
it  in  this  way  ?    A  fine  story  that  man  has  to  carry 


160  AT  axchoe: 

back  of  my  brutality,  of  me  who  keep  yon  here  ! 
"Wliy  not  go ;  the  North  is  at  rest,  it  is  only  we  who 
suffer ;  leave  us  to  our  fate.     Go,  Georgie." 

"  I  thought  we  had  settled  that  question  times 
enough,"  I  said.     "  Are  you  tii-ed  of  me,  Carl  ?  " 

"  Tired  ?  I  am  tired  of  every  thmg ;  myself  and  life, 
and  with  it  all  I  am  killing  you  with  the  contest 
between  your  divided  duties." 

"My  duties  are  not  divided,"  I  answered,  meeting 
his  vehemence  as  I  would  a  child's,  and  lifting  the 
bright  rings  of  hair  from  his  forehead  with  the  same 
kind  of  tenderness ;  "  when  will  you  cease  to  fear  for 
me?" 

"  Xever,  Georgie,  while  I  live ;  I  took  cruel  ad- 
vantage of  your  kind  heart  once,  though  God  knows  I 
thought  no  wrong,  and  the  memory  of  that  day  stands 
as  a  constant  reproach  to  me.  Oh  !  could  I  but  have 
seen  clearer  the  happiest  way  for  you !  had  only  had 
strength  to  sacrifice  myself  for  you !  And  you, 
Georgie,  why  did  you  ever  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Because  you  asked  me,"  I  answered  ;  "  you  did 
not  expect  me  to  ask  you,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  laugh ;  it  sounds  so  horiible.  In  a  few 
hours  we  may  see  things  that  will  prevent  us  from 
ever  laughing  again." 

"  What  has  happened  now  ?  "  I  asked,  seating  my- 
self by  him. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that   ships   are   outside    the 


A   STORY    OF    OFR   CIVIL   WAR.  161 

bar  trying  to  reenforce  Sumter ;  they  must  not 
enter." 

"  But  this  is  an  old  story,  Carl,  it  may  vanish  like 
the  rest." 

"  God  grant  it  may  not,"  he  answered ;  "  would  to 
God  the  first  blow  were  struck,  and  we  were  fairly  in 
action ;  this  suspense  is  killing  us  and  our  cause.  Our 
Governor  is  iinsatisfactory,  and  we  only  half  know 
who  are  with  us." 

"  Is  eveiy  thing  ready  in  case  of  an  attack  ?  " 

"  Ready !  we  have  been  ready  too  long ;  we  want  a 
decisive  act,  something  that  will  show  the  men  of  the 
South,  yes,  and  the  men  of  the  ISTorth  too,  that  we  are 
in  earnest ;  we  want  our  men  to  feel  they  are  *  in  for 
it,'  past  choice,  past  change ;  this  they  will  not  feel 
until  the  Federal  Government  has  declared  war 
against  us.  God  speed  the  day !  I  cannot  face  these 
dangers  for  you,  Georgie.  If  I  were  in  the  North 
now,  with  my  sympathies  as  they  are,  I  should  be  Avild 
as  a  caged  lion." 

"  I  am  going  to  bear  it  easier  than  that,"  I  said. 
"  So  long  as  there  was  chance  for  choice  I  spared  neither 
logic  nor  persuasion  to  urge  you  to  make  it  with  your 
countiy;  you  have  made  it  against  your  country; 
you  think  you  have  done  right,  I  think  you  have 
done  wrong ;  but  it  makes  no  difference  in  my  regard 
for  you.  I  cannot  change  my  sentiments;  we  owe 
aUegiance  to  the  United  States,  not  to  North  or  South. 


162  AT   AXCHOE. 

Because  you  are  my  husband  I  shall  stay  here ;  because 
the  nation  against  which  you  rebel  is  my  nation,  I 
shall  love  it  and  honor  it  as  I  always  have.  I  shall 
never  by  word,  look,  or  deed,  do  any  thing  that  I 
think  will  aid  your  cause  or  hurt  my  own.  I  shall  aid 
mine  when  I  can.  I  do  not  say  I  shall  hurt  yours,  for 
my  honor  to  you  requires  me  to  keep  to  myself  what 
I  know  through  you.  I  shall  try  to  act  according  to 
my  conscience,  and  yet  to  injure  neither  you  nor 
myself.     Does  this  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  most  generous  of  you ;  but  oh  !  Georgie, 
what  a  man  I  might  be  if  I  could  only  feel  as  others 
do,  that  the  eyes  I  loved  watched  me  with  pride  and 
encouragement." 

"  Dear  Carl,  if  a  man  ever  sinned  in  the  belief  he 
was  doing  right  you  are  that  man ;  and  I  look  to  you 
to  prove  as  true  to  the  cause  in  which  you  believe  as 
if  it  were  my  cause  too.  May  I  ask  you  one  thing  : 
if  ever  you  see  this  thing  as  I  do,  as  a  treason,  a  crime, 
and  a  curse,  will  you  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  there  is  a  sun  in  the  heavens !  To 
draw  my  sword  from  its  sheath  but  once,  for  a  cause 
which  I  no  longer  believed  just  and  right,  I  would 
count  murder." 

"  You  are  a  true  man,  Carl,  God  bless  you.  If 
ever  angels  wept  over  invincible  ignorance  they  are 
weeping  now,  but  it  is  ignorance  so  invincible  that  it 
will  save  you." 


CHAPTER  Xy. 

Only  a  few  liours  more  and  war  was  inaugurated ; 
a  few  days  further  and  my  husband  came  to  me  in  his 
major's  uniform,  proud  and  exultant,  though  he  had 
come  to  say  his  last  good-bye.  It  was  our  very  first 
separation  since  our  marriage.  I  had  been  less  than 
woman  had  not  my  heart  ached  for  him,  as  he  stood 
before  me  in  his  noble  manhood,  his  ever  bright  face 
radiant  with  enthusiasm,  and  every  noblest  emotion 
of  human  life  glowing  in  his  eyes.  I  did  not  wish  to 
deceive  him  as  I  might  if  I  showed  him  half  my  feel- 
ing; for  in  his  eager  longing  how  could  I  hope  he 
would  analyze  my  emotion,  and  say  :  "  This  she  says 
from  pity,  this  from  pride,  this  from  native  tender- 
ness." I  had,  at  least,  this  honor  left,  that  I  would 
not  give  him  hope  I  could  not  realize;  so  I  bound 
down  my  rising  pity,  and  admiration,  and  intense 
terror,-  and  quietly  as  might  be  received  his  last 
convulsive  embrace.  He  cried  like  a  child  then, 
while  I  played  with  the  bright  rings  of  hair  that 
clustered    lovingly   around   his   forehead,   cried   and 


164  AT  anchor: 

kissed  my  hands,  my  eyes,  and  hair,  and  reaching  the 
door  turned  back  and  stramed  me  to  his  heart ;  then 
the  band  played,  and  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  with- 
out another  word  or  glance,  without  lifting  his  eyes, 
he  took  his  place,  and  rode  from  my  sight ;  a  purer 
face,  a  nobler  form,  never  went  to  battle  yet  since 
time  began. 

Do  not  ask  me  of  the  days  that  followed ;  there 
was  an  agony  in  their  strained  calmness  that  has  left 
scars  upon  my  soul  that  will  last  until  I  die.  The 
North  I  heard,  had  flown  to  arms  as  one  man,  but  the 
force  sent  against  us  was  far,  far  too  small ;  I  shudder- 
ed when  I  heard  the  number.  Seyenty-five  thousand 
citizen  soldiers  to  stand  agjainst  the  lono^-trained  men 
of  the  South,  fighting,  every  man  of  them,  as  if  the 
quarrel  were  his  own,  and  on  his  own  strength  and 
skill  depended  its  issue.  I  shut  myself  in  my  own 
house  as  much  as  I  could  to  avoid  hearing  the  insult- 
ing remarks  of  the  Union's  foes.  My  husband's  letters 
were  my  only  society ;  they  were  rich  in  interest,  in 
thought,  and  incident.  I  could  not  shut  out  the 
rejoicing  over  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  which  was  a 
grand  Southern  victory,  and  which  was  as  fuel  and 
flame  to  the  "  Rebels."  My  husband's  letters  did  not 
speak  of  it  as  enthusiastically  as  I  expected  them  to  : 
"  It  is,  in  some  resj^ects,  a  victory  that  will  hurt  us 
much,"  he  wrote ;  "  it  is  the  first  intimation  to  the 
North  that  they  are  not  out  on  a  holiday  parade ;  it 


A    STORY    OF    OUE   CIVIL   WAR.  165 

has  too  many  resources,  her  enthusiasm  is  yet  too  un- 
cooled,  to  make  this  defeat  an  extinguisher,  as  our 
good  friend  Montreuil,  who  is  wild  with  joy,  and  very 
tipsy  with  whiskey,  calls  it.  Our  victory  has  come 
too  soon  for  us,  we  shall  be  more  easily  discouraged 
later,  for  it ;  their  defeat  has  come  too  soon  for  the 
JTorth ;  it  is  raw  meat  to  a  hungry  bull-dog,  enough 
to  whet  his  appetite,  not  enough  to  satisfy  his 
hunger." 

Again  there  were  wild  rejoicings  over  the  massacre 
at  Ball's  Bluff.  "  I  cannot  rejoice,"  wrote  my  husband ; 
"  I  can  glory  in  whipping  my  enemy  in  fail'  and  open 
fight,  but  there  is  little  joy  in  a  victory  thrown  into 
your  hands  by  the  stupidity  of  a  blundering  general. 
The  greater  part  of  the  killed  at  Ball's  Bluff  were  Massa- 
chusetts young  men.  Harvard  students,  who  had  learn- 
ed their  law  and  their  loyalty  in  the  same  buildings 
where  I  spent  my  early  college  days,  dreaming  of  some- 
body— you  know  whom  !     Poor  fellows  !     One  man, 

Dr.  W ,  I  think  you  knew  him,  he  was  an  old  chum 

of  mine,  I  saw  after  the  battle ;  he  was  shot  in  the 
river  trying  to  save  a  friend,  to  whom  his  sister  was 
engaged,  and  who  was  so  wounded  as  to  be  unable  to 
swim.  There  will  be  wailing  in  old  Massachusetts 
when  she  hears  of  these  things.  There  were  some 
splendid  things  done  on  our  side ;  not  alone  brave 
deeds,  but  things  that  showed  the  quickness  and 
the  vigilance  of  our  officers ;  they  are  never  caught 


166  AT  AXCHOE  : 

napping,  which,  as  you  may  divine,  is  worth  more 
than  much  skill  and  strategy." 

I  can  hardly  tell  hovv-  I  lived  through  the  months 
that  followed ;  after  every  skirmish  even,  I  waited  in 
trembling  fear  for  news  of  my  liushand,  in  more  than 
mortal  fear,  for  I  sometimes  questioned  if  God  should 
be  less  merciful  than  we,  how  could  He  who  had  said, 
"Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's," 
receiA^e  my  poor  husband  if  he  should  die  in  rebellion 
against  his  Government,  which  had  given  him  no 
cause  for  complaint. 

Until  June  my  fears  were  without  foundation ;  and 
then  one  day  a  letter  came  to  me  by  private  hand, 
from  the  son  of  one  of  my  earliest  Southern  friends : 

"  It  becomes  my  painful  duty,"  he  wrote,  "  to 
inform  you,  my  dear  madame,  that  Major  Aberthuay 
was  quite  severely  wounded  in  a  late  skirmish  with  the 
enemy,  and  has  very  much  retarded  his  own  cure  by 
his  restlessness  and  impatience  to  join  his  command, 
or,  since  that  has  become  impracticable,  to  go  home. 
Believing  it  to  be  entirely  in  accordance  with  your 
wishes,  I  have  taken  advantage  of  a  favorable  oppor- 
tmiity  to  write  you,  although  the  Major  earnestly 
opposes  any  thing  that  can  bring  to  you  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  very  painful  condition,  which  is  much 
more  serious  than  he  imagines.  We  have  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  the  Major  at  our  own  house, 
where  my  sisters  vie  with  each  other  in  their  efforts  to 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  167 

assist  him.  Feeling  confident  you  Avould  scarcely 
forgive  me  should  I  obey  your  husband's  injunctions, 
and  leave  you  ignorant  of  these  facts,  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  stating  them.  My  leave  of  absence, 
which  has  enabled  me  to  take  medical  care  of  Major 
Aberthnay,  is  about  expiring,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
leave  him  to  such  care  as  very  inexj)erienced  nurses 
can  render ;  convinced,  however,  that  the  medicine 
he  least  needs  is  that  which  a  surgeon  can  bestow. 
Although  within  the  Federal  lines,  Major  Aberthnay 
is  in  perfect  security.  It  will,  I  am  sure,  be  the  first 
impulse  of  your  heart  to  endeavor  to  meet  your  hus- 
band ;  and  should  you  be  able  to  leave  home,  I  am 
requested  by  my  mother  and  sisters  to  assure  you  of  a 
hearty  welcome  ;  there  will  be  very  little  difficulty  in 
eluding  the  Federal  vigilance."  Some  directions, 
simple  enough,  were  then  given,  and  with  one  or  two 
apologies  for  the  intrusion,  the  letter  concluded. 

It  would  have  been  grief  enough  to  know  my  hus- 
band were  wounded:  to  be  told  of  it  against  his 
wishes,  to  realize  how  great  must  have  been  the  dan- 
ger when  an  almost  entire  stranger  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  call  me  to  his  side,  were  emotions  impossible 
to  describe.  As  quickly  after  reading  the  letter  as  a 
dress  could  be  changed  and  a  carriage  ready  I  was 
on  my  way  to  the  depot,  and  fortunate  enough,  by 
one  hasty  spring,  to  find  place  upon  the  train  just 
moving  from  the  depot. 


168  AT  an^choe: 

I  wrapped  myself  in  my  travelling  cloak  and  sank 
back  in  my  seat,  motionless  as  a  statue  without  from 
the  very  surging  of  my  soul  within.  My  whole  life  in 
this  world  and  the  next  seemed  to  hang  upon  the 
chance  of  arriving  in  time,  at  least  to  hear  the  words 
I  deserved  so  little,  "  I  forgive."  " 

And  if  life  were  given  to  him  longer  still,  how  I 
would  pray  until  I  had  saved  him  from  all  fmther 
dangers ! 

I  never  counted  that  journey  by  hours  or  by  days. 
I  know  nothing  how  I  found  my  way.  I  remember 
only  a  dark  night,  a  lonely  street,  a  quiet  house,  and 
myself  wildly  begging  admittance.  It  was  very  late ; 
a  white-headed  old  gentleman  cautiously  opened  the 
door. 

"  Let  me  in,  I  beseech  you,"  I  said ;  "  I  am  Mrs. 
Aberthnay." 

He  opened  the  door  wider,  and  I  sprang  into  the 
hall ;  the  gentleman  opened  the  door  of  a  room  at  one 
side  of  the  hall,  and  spoke  my  name ;  a  group  of  fright- 
ened, wondering  faces,  instantly  gathered  around  me. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Aberthnay,"  I  repeated ;  "  is  my  hus- 
band here?" 

"Mrs.  Aberthnay,  is  it  possible?  Come  in,  my 
dear,"  one  said,  drawing  me  into  the  open  room. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  I  said ;  "  I  would  like  to  see 

my  husband,  at  once,  if  you  please.     Dr.  M wi'ote 

me  he  was  here."" 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  169 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  cu])  of  tea,"  she  said. 

"  Is  not  my  husband  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"He  was  wounded,  you  know,"  she  answered; 
"  and  have  you  come  all  this  way  alone,  dear  Mrs.  Ab- 
erthnay  ?  I  cannot  tell  you  half  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you." 

"  I  know,  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  M ;  but 

do  tell  me  of  Major  Aberthnay.     Is  he  here  ?  " 

They  looked  from  one  to  the  other;  and  with  that 
mistaken  kindness  so  many  people  use,  they  said  a 
few  commonplace  sentences,  and  tried  to  remove  my 
things.  At  last,  howcA^er,  I  forced  the  truth  from 
them. 

Some  one  had  told  of  my  husband's  concealment 
at  their  house.  He  discovered  his  danger,  and  being 
determined  to  die  sooner  than  be  taken  prisoner, 
against  their  prayers  and  tears,  and  all  their  argu- 
ments, he  had  insisted  upon  leaving  them.  David,  his 
trusty  servant,  was  with  him,  and  he  had  gone  no  one 
knew  where.  There  were  only  women  in  the  house ; 
the  gentleman  who  had  opened  the  door  was  a  neigh- 
bor, who  had  come  to  them  the  day  before  from  the 
ruins  of  his  once  splendid  home,  burnt  by  the  "  Yan- 
kees." There  had  been  no  one  to  accompany  my  hus- 
band, only  David. 

Then  they  told  me  of  his  wound,  and  of  the  rest- 
lessness and  impatience  which  had  put  him  back  very 
much ;  and  then  that  he  grew  sad  and  melancholv,  and 


170  AT  ANCHOR  : 

made  no  eftbrt  to  rally,  seeming  to  take  no  interest  in 
any  thing  except  the  letters  from  me,  which  had  been 
sent  him  from  headquarters  whenever  there  was  an 

opportunity,  and  then  it  was  that  Dr.  M became 

frightened  and  sent  for  me,  and  I  was  too  late. 

Xo  one  tried  to  sleep  that  night ;  good,  affectionate 
women,  they  gathered  around  me,  and  told  me  every 
incident  of  his  stay  at  their  house ;  how  the  doctor 
had  brought  him  there  first,  what  they  had  thought, 
how  courteously  he  had  thanked  them,  how  gently  he 
ever  spoke  to  them,  Avhile  they  could  see  he  was  inward- 
ly fretting ;  how  one  of  the  girls  had  been  his  favorite, 
because  she  was  like  his  wife.  These  and  a  thousand 
trifles  besides,  such  as  love  and  tenderness  are  made 
of,  they  told  me  with  as  much  minuteness  as  if  I  had 
been  Carl's  own  fond  and  loving  wife ;  and  I  heard 
them,  and  thought  in  my  heart  how  they  would  hate 
me  could  they  know  the  coldness,  the  cruelty  I  had 
shown  the  man  they  honored  so  much. 

At  the  first  dawn  of  light  I  started  under  the 
guidance  of  their  one  remaining  servant,  whose  assist- 
ance they  forced  me  to  accept,  to  find  my  husband ; 
and  then  it  was  that,  for  the  first  time  since  the  war, 
as  I  neared  the  city,  I  saw  the  old  flag  again. 

I  saw  it  again.  Not  the  prodigal,  with  the  weight 
of  his  physical  cares  and  moral  guilt,  leaving  the  husks 
which  the  swine  did  eat  for  tlie  old  home  luxuries,  ran 
faster  to  meet  his  father  on  the  way,  wept  with  greater 


A   STOEY    OP    OUK    CIVIL   AVAK.  171 

joy  uiider  that  father's  blessing  hands,  than  I,  Avhen, 
weary  and  almost  heart-broken,  a  rebel  and  a  traitor  if 
you  choose,  I  saw  once  more  the  flag  I  had  deserted  ; 
saw  it  again,  the  dear  familiar  stripes,  the  bright,  un- 
fallen  stars  floating  joyously,  grandly,  in  the  soft  sum- 
mer breezes, — "  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well."  I 
did  not  know  I  had  so  much  of  impulse  and  fond  emo- 
tion left  within  me,  as  I,  who  had  shed  not  a  tear  dur- 
ing all  these  days  of  terror  and  suspense,  who  had  ut- 
tered not  a  single  groan  when  I  learned  the  bitter 
knowledge  of  their  uselessness,  sprang  forward,  while 
tears  rained  from  my  eyes,  to  stand  once  more  beneath 
its  folds. 

Another  lay  on  the  ground  beside  me ;  a  soldier's 
flag,  stained  with  rain  and  mud,  and  oh !  its  olden 
whiteness  dark  with  blood ;  torn  and  tattered,  thrown 
aside  as  useless,  perhaps,  how  eagerly  I  pressed  it  to 
my  lips,  and  caressed  it  and  bathed  it  with  my  tears ! 

Just  then  the  morning  sun  burst  through  the  mists 
that  had  hung  over  us,  birds  sang  merrily  on  every 
tree,  and  for  a  few  moments  I  forgot  I  was  searching 
for  a  suffering,  perhaps  a  dying  husband. 

"  When  I  Y/rite  Carl,"  I  thought,  "  I  will  tell  him 
just  how  the  morning  looks." 

Then  I  trembled  and  my  strength  left  me.  I  might 
never  write  to  Carl  again. 

He  was  not  at  his  old  command;  I  had  found 
friends  everywhere  to  help  me  on,  but  none  to  tell  me 


172  AT   AXCHOE. 

of  him.  "  He  was  on  sick  leave,  and  we  supposed  him 
home,"  was  my  most  satisfactory  answer.  Then  I 
hurried  back,  picturing  Carl  already  there ;  actually 
looked  for  him  to  meet  me  when  I  reached  the  city ; 
so  thoughtful,  so  courteous  had  he  ever  been  to  me 
that  I  could  scarcely  realize  myself  standing  in  the 
hurrying  crowd  ^vithout  Carl's  eager  face  to  welcome 
me,  Carl's  protecting  arm  to  lean  upon.  I  rushed  to 
the  house ;  it  was  dark  and  close ;  no  one  had  entered 
it,  but  the  servants  coming  and  going,  since  I  left. 
Then  I  sat  down  and  cried. 

"  Massa  berry  likely  stop  somewhere,  he  be  berry 
tired  and  sick,"  suggested  one  of  the  servants,  and  the 
thought  was  a  good  one ;  and  acting  upon  it  I  found 
comfort  and  consolation.  I  arranged  the  rooms;  I 
worked  over  Mrs.  Glynn's  receijDt-book,  preparing  all 
manner  of  delicacies  to  tempt  his  taste ;  I  sprang  to  the 
door,  if  ever  an  officer  passed  the  window ;  a  hundred 
times  I  cried,  "  This  is  he  ! "  but  Carl  did  not  come. 
"Why  should  he  ?  Had  I  been  such  a  wife  to  him  that 
he  should  care  to  come  ?  and  if  he  did  come,  would  he 
be  satisfied  with  tender  nursing  and  dainty  food  ? 

But  David  came,  and  told  me  his  story. 

"Massa  berry  weak,  me  trable  and  no  house,  no 
nothing ;  I  do  my  best.  One  day  massa  called  me  and 
Bay :  '  I  am  dying  this  time,  David,  and  no  mistake.' 
'  Ah,  no,  Massa  Carl,'  I  say,  '  I  go  foraging  and  you 
get  better ; '  but  he  just  shake  his  head,  and  I  went  on 


A    STORY    OF    OUK    CIVIL   AVAR.  173 

a  little  way  to  find  a  house  or  some  place  for  Massa 
Carl.  I  find  some  berry  nice  people,  and  we  all  go 
after  massa,  but  de  Yanks  were  dere  first ;  when  dey 
was  gone,  der  was  no  Massa  Carl,  only  just  him  coat 
he'd  bin  laying  on  'fore  I  went  'way." 

Two  or  three  days  after  letters  reached  me  which 
gave  me  fuller  accounts ;  a  prisoner  had  seen  my  hus- 
band brought  into  the  Federal  camp  on  a  stretcher ; 
several  ol  the  officers  had  tried  to  assist  him,  but 
he  was  too  far  gone.  They  had  all  felt  much  interest- 
ed in  him  from  his  fine  appearance ;  but  the  prisoner 
could  only  say  he .  had  been  kindly  cared  for,  for  in  a 
few  hours  there  was  a  surprise  by  the  Confederates  in 
which  the  in^prmant  was  taken  prisoner.  Further 
information  came  later.  He  had  lived  only  a  few 
days,  but  had  been  cared  for  to  the  last,  and  was 
buried  in  a  portion  of  the  battle-ground  in  which 
Confederates  and  Unionist  had  been  buried  together. 

Every  kindness,  every  praise  of  him,  every  sympa- 
thy possible  the  ofiicers  gave  me ;  he  had  been  widely 
loved  and  honored  for  his  soldierly  skill  and  daring, 
and  his  noble  and  knightly  character. 

If  one  ray  of  light  could  have  come  in  upon  the 
darkness  of  my  heart,  it  would  have  come  in  the 
thought  that  he  had  died  for  a  cause  he  had  loved  and 
honored ;  but  seeing  vrith  the  clearer  light  of  immor- 
tality his  spirit  would  recognize  the  right,  while  his 
body  rested  under  the  folds  of  tlie  true  flag. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

With  my  husband's  death  died  all  that  bound  me 
to  the  South.  I  utterly  loathed  the  war  and  every 
thing  concerned  with  it.  Free  to  feel,  free  to  think, 
at  last,  according  to  my  own  convictions,  I  made  no 
attempt  to  disguise  its  deformity,  its  wretchedness, 
the  wickedness  of  its  motives,  and  the  etiormity  of  its 
sin.  I  went,  as  I  had  done  before,  to  the  hospitals,  for 
I  knew  how  many,  like  my  husband,  had  gone  into 
the  war  as  conscientiously  and  as  heroically  as  your 
bravest  !N"orthern  general ;  but  oh  !  I  longed  with  all 
my  heart,  it  was  a  dream  beyond  any  hope,  to  stand 
among  brave  Union  men,  and  toil  for  them  ! 

I  did  not  dare  look  so  far  as  my  old  home ;  I  dared 
not  hope  ever  to  live  under  the  dear  flag  again ;  but  I 
did  dream  of  an  escape  somewhere,  anywhere  out  of 
that  accursed  city,  every  stone  in  the  streets  of  which 
seemed  to  mock  at  me.  My  friendliness  was  com- 
plete ;  many  who  honored  my  husband  had  shown  me 
many  kind  attentions,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  had  no 
right  to  them.      I   had  felt  always,  especially  since 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  l75 

my  visit  North,  as  if  I  were  wearing  honors  I  did  not 
deserve. 

How  many  of  the  pale  faces  that  hurried  past  mc 
covered  the  same  weariness  of  heart,  I  did  not  ask  ;  but 
as  I  saw  their  tenderness  to  the  soldiers,  their  devo- 
tion to  their  cause,  my  heart  cried  out  more  than  ever 
to  be  at  the  Korth,  aiding  in  like  manner  the  land  I 
loved. 

"David,"  I  asked  one  morning  of  him  who  was 
now  a  hero  among  his  fellow  servants,  "what  has  be- 
come of  Lizzie,  I  have  not  seen  her  for  several  days?" 

"  Dunno,  missus." 

"  Yes  you  do,  David ;  answer  me." 

"  Oh,  lor,  missus,  if  yer  looks  in  that  way  'specks 
I'll  have  ter  answer.  'Specks  Lizzie's  whar  George 
is."  George  was  her  husband,  living  in  another  pai-t 
of  the  city. 

"  And  wh^re  is  George  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  missus,  'less  de  Yanks  got  hold  of  him  ; 
dey's  awful  tiefs,  dey  is." 

"  I  wonder  if  they  would  steal  me,"  I  said ;  but 
forming  the  thought  into  words  became  too  much  for 
me,  and  I  could  not  keep  back  the  tears.  When  he  saw 
that,  David  cried  too,  but  so  ludicrously  that  I  changed 
to  laughing. 

"  Dar  now,  see  dat  now,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  missus 
laif  just  de  way  she  larf  when  Massa  Carl  and  me  go 
courtin.     Massa  Carl !  Massa  Carl !  oh  !  oh  !     Nebber 


176  AT  axchoe: 

go  courtin  no  more !  Him  told  me  dis  yere'd  happen. 
Nebber  see  you  no  more,  Massa  Carl !  Massa  Carl 
him  berry  badly  hurt  last  winter,  nebber  tell  you, 
missus  ?  Him  jDoor  foot's  all  frozed,  and  when  David 
take  stocking  off  de  skin  all  come  too,  but  ]\Iassa 
Carl  he  only  larf.  Him  say :  David,  any  thing  happen 
to  me  you  go  back  to  missus ;  tell  her  I  lub  her  just 
ebery  day  more  ;  tell  her  forgive  me  that  thing — she 
knows.  And  David,  him  say  low  voice,  get  her  up 
JSTorf,  you  know  how." 

"  You  know  how  !  Oh,  David,  why  did  you  not 
tell  me  this  before  ?  " 

"  I  'fraid,  missus,  you  berry  big  for  de  war." 

"Can  I  go,  David?" 

"Massa  Carl  tell  me,  I  know." 

"  That  won't  do  now,"  I  said,  when  he  had  told  me 
his  plan ;  "  things  have  changed  since  then,  and  when- 
ever I  do  go  I  shall  go  openly  and  above  board, — 
honorably." 

"  Missus  know  best,"  he  said,  only  dimly  conscious 
that  I  was  beyond  him.  "  'Taint  nuffin  for  nigger  to 
run  away ;  'taint  for  poor  nigger  ter  have  dem  high 
semments.  If  Missus  goes  Xorf  she'll  take  David 
'long  too  ?  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  go,  David  ?  " 

"  It  berry  cold  der,  missus  ?  " 

"  Not  all  the  time." 

"  'Specks  I'd  like  ter  go,  missus." 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  177 

"  Then  I'll  take  you,  David." 

"  Missus  promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  David,  if  you  don't  run  away  first." 

"  I  not  run  away,  missus,  I  go  hon'rable." 

"Oh!  "I  exclaimed. 

"  It  berry  cold  up  Xorf,  but  a  man  own  he  self 
dere.     How  much  I  worth,  missus?" 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"How  much  I  bring  if  I  sold." 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Tink  I'se  worth  good  deal ;  two  tousand  dollars, 
may  be." 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  Two  tousand  dollars  great  deal  money  for  Xorf. 
I  go  Xorf,  I  own  myself,  I  be  worth  two  tousand 
dollars  ;  I  be  berry  rich  man.  Bimeby  I  make  more 
money  and  buy  old  Chloe,  den  I  own  two  niggers. 
Bimeby — "  but  David's  mathematical  calculations  had 
reached  their  climax. 

The  next  day  I  left  my  husband's  property  in  the 
hands  of  his  old  lawyer  to  take  care  of  for  me,  and  I 
started  for  Richmond,  which  seemed  a  little  nearer 
home. 

8* 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

It  was  intensely  hot  in  Richmond  and  in  its  neigh- 
borhood, but  the  heat  was  the  least  of  onr  trouble ; 
the  "  Yankees  "  were  at  our  very  gates,  and  the  city 
seemed  moulding  itself  into  one  vast  hospital  on 
account  of  the  wounded  soldiers  daily  arriving,  and 
the  constant  departure  of  all  well  j^ersons,  soldiers,  and 
civilians,  who  could  get  away.  As  for  those  who 
remained, — it  may  have  been  the  reflection  of  my  own 
loneliness, — they  seemed  borne  down  by  anxiety  and 
care ;  there  were  some  who  loudly  spurned  all  fear  of 
a  nearer  approach  of  the  Federal  army  to  Richmond ; 
there  were  others  who  trembled  lest  at  any  moment 
the  dreaded  Yankees  might  burst  in  uj^on  us.  Con- 
fusion dwelt  everywhere ;  our  army,  broken  and  ex- 
hausted, could  offer  but  a  feeble  resistance,  and  what 
was  there  to  prevent  the  Union  army  from  daslnng 
into  our  very  midst  ? 

Many  urged  me  to  join  them  in  leaving  the  city, 
but  I  only  shook  my  head.  "  What  use  ?  "  I  said,  "  as 
well  now  as  later ;  it  makes  no  difference."     "  Her 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  179 

husband's  death  has  broken  her  completely,"  they 
said. 

I  went  from  place  to  place  in  a  fever  of  restless- 
ness. Whenever  I  was  in  the  city  I  visited  the  hospi- 
tals, and  gave  largely  of  help  and  money,  so  that  my 
loyalty  was  held  as  a  model  to  others.  But  I  could 
not  rest  anywhere,  nor  stay  in  any  one  place.  Once 
I  walked  up  and  down  a  depot ;  some  one  had  said  a 
train  of  wounded  soldiers  was  to  pass  there,  and  I 
tried  to  solace  ray  feverishness  by  j^lanning  some  as- 
sistance for  them. 

A  young  girl  who  seemed  to  be  even  more  impa- 
tient than  myself,  finally  addressed  me :  "  Do  you 
know  any  thing  about  the  train  ?  Will  it  come,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"  I  knoAV  nothing  for  certain,"  I  answered,  "  but  it 
seems  to  be  expected  by  very  many;  we  can  only 
wait." 

"  Only  wait !  I  am  tired  to  death  of  waiting ;  I 
have  been  here  ages." 

"  You  are  expecting  some  one  ?  " 

"  Partly.  Papa  has  been  wounded,  and  I  go  to 
every  depot  and  every  train  to  meet  him.  My  poor 
papa  !  I  loish  they'd  come  !  Probably,  after  all,  papa 
won't  be  there;  I  have  been  disappointed  so  many 
times  !     Are  you  expecting  any  body  ?  " 

"  Xo,"  I  said,  "  I  have  not  even  the  comfort  of 
dread  or  fear." 


180  AT  axchoe: 

"  Oh  !  how  hard ! "  she  exclaimed ; 

"  '  Not  to  dread  because  all  is  taken, 
Is  the  loneliest  depth  of  human  pain.' 

But  it  is  a  proud  thing  to  have  lost  any  one  in  this 
Avar." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"  I  shall  do  something  desperate  if  this  thing  goes 
on  much  longer,"  she  said. 

"  Dear  child,"  I  could  but  say,  "  rather  thank  God 
that  he  has  left  you  even  suspense." 

She  turned  perfectly  pale.  "  If  God  took  papa,"  slie 
said,  "  I  would—" 

She  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  I  wondered,  if  I 
had  loved  Carl,  would  I  have  felt  the  revenge  and 
fury  her  broken  sentence  showed  ? 

"I  wonder  how  you  all  bear  it  so  calmly,"  she 
began  again:  "  you  must  be  very  patient." 

"  We  never  know,"  I  answered,  "  until  we  are  tried, 
how  much  we  can  bear.  Your  father  for  whom  you 
are  waiting,  has  he  been  long  in  the  army  ?  "  I  added, 
to  change  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  from  the  first ;  I  was  in  New  York,  and  papa 
ordered  me  to  stay  there,  but  I  ordered  myself  to 
come  here.  Well  that  I  did,  or  there  would  be  no  one 
to  take  care  of  papa." 

"  I  have  lived  a  great  deal  in  Xew  York,"  I  said  ; 
"  that  oug^ht  to  make  us  friends  almost." 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   ^WAR.  181 

"  I  did  love  Kew  York,  but  now  I  hate  it.  I  would 
joy  to  hear  it  burnt  to  the  ground." 

She  had  a  fair  complexion,  soft  brown  hair  and 
emotionless  blue  eyes ;  but  she  spoke  with  a  fierce 
vindictiveness. 

"  Were  you  ever  there  much  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  was  educated  there.  I  wish  we  could 
take  Xew  York." 

"  If  we  keep  half  of  what  we  have  we  shall  do 
well." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  !  Papa  writes  me  all  about 
the  war  and  the  ^orth.  He  says  the  Northern  Gen- 
erals don't  fight  like  ours,  and  theii'  army  cannot  stand 
privations  as  ours  does.  They  are  not  heart  and  soul 
in  the  war  like  we  are.  Papa  sends  me  Kew  York 
papers  ;  they  never  agree ;  they  are  all  grumbling  and 
growling,  some  wanting  one  thing,  some  another; 
some  want  the  army  to  do  this,  and  others  want 
it  to  do  something  else ;  and  Abe  Lincoln  tries  to  suit 
them  all,  and  so  cuts  up  the  army,  and  fights  a  little 
to  suit  the  war  people,  and  then  compromises  and 
don't  fight,  to  suit  the  peace  people.  Papa  says  they 
will  have  another  revolution  up  there." 

"I  very  seldom  see  a  Northern  paper,"  I  said; 
"  what  do  they  find  to  quarrel  about  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  exactly ;  but  papa  says  tlie 
Yankee  rage  for  money-making  gets  ahead  of  patriot 
zeal  for  the  country,  and  so  there's  a  muss.    They  talk 


182  AT  axchoe: 

a  deal  about  our  slaves,  and  our  sleeping  over  volca- 
noes ;  but  papa  says  our  slaves  are  not  a  circumstance 
to  their  foreign  citizens,  who  don't  understand  about 
country  and  government ;  how  can  they,  never  having 
had  any  of  their  own?  and  they  make  as  much  fuss 
and  talk  as  loud  as  if  the  whole  Xorth  belonged  to 
them,  and  won't  leave  the  Yankees  a  chance  to  squeeze 
in  a  word  on  their  own  affairs.  Papa  made  me  learn 
some  lines  of  a  French  poet  in  Xew  Orleans  once,  that 
he  says  have  proved  almost  a  proi3hecy.  I  do  not 
know  if  I  can  quote  them : 

*  Ycillons !  car  parmi  nous  I'esprit  des  etrangers 
Menace  le  pays  du  plus  grand  des  dangers, 
Ah  !  malheur  a  tous  ceux  qui,  plein  de  moquerie 
Par  la  force^ou  I'astuce,  attaquent  la  patrie : 
Malheur  aux  etrangers,  s'ils  ne  cessent  de  I'dtre ; 
S'ils  veuleut  conserver  I'amour  d'un  ancien  maitre, 
S'ils  n'ont  pas  un  seul  ccsur  avec  ceux  du  pays, 
S'ils  ne  pai-tagent  pas  les  amours  de  ses  fils ; 
Si  centre  notre  esprit  leur  fol  esprit  conspire ; 
S'ils  veulent  un  empire  au  milieu  d'un  empire ! 
Yeillons !  car  le  grand  fiot  de  I'emigration 
Menace  ravenir  de  notre  Nation ! 
Car  I'esprit  etranger,  cruel  perturbateur, 
De  la  guerre  intestine  est  le  premier  fauteur ; 
Du  desordre  toujours  il  s'est  montre  I'apotre; 
Et  traitre  a  sa  patrie,  11  trahira  la  notre ! ' " 

AdPvIEN  Eouqcette. 

"  You    pronounce    French    beautifully,"    I    said, 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  183 

making   no    comment    on  the    matter  of  her  quota- 
tion. 

"  I  ought,"  she  answered ;  "  I  learned  it  at  Madame 
Chegary's,  where  I  learned  many  other  things  not  so 
commendable,  such  as  flirting." 

"  I  don't  think  the  art  of  flirting  is  ever  taught," 
I  answered ;  "  it  is  like  Dogberry's  reading  and  writing, 
that  come  by  nature." 

"  I  don't  do  much  of  that  noAv,"  she  said.  "  This 
war  has  made  me  very  solemn.  How  did  I  come  to 
make  you  that  quotation  ?  Not  to  show  ofi"  my  French, 
you  must  not  think." 

"  I  do  not,  indeed.  You  were  speaking  of  the  dis- 
turbances at  the  Xorth,  of  which  I  have  heard  only  a 
little  now  and  then,  and  never  before  directly." 

"  I  remember  now.  They  do  not  know  what  coun- 
try means  at  the  Xorth,  where  they  are  mixed  up  with 
every  manner  of  nation.  It  is  not  like  it  is  here  ;  vre 
are  all  for  one  side  ;  there  they  are  divided,  and. half 
of  their  generals,  who  are  politicians,  try  to  keep  right 
with  both  sides,  so  that  they  can  keep  their  f)laces 
either  way.  It  isn't  like  it  is  here.  If  a  general  here 
gets  beaten,  doAvn  he  goes ;  only  our  generals  never  do 
get  beaten.  There,  papa  says,  no  matter  how  much 
we  beat  them,  they  cry  *  Yictory  !  Yictory  ! '  all  the 
same.     There  comes  the  train  ! " 

Slowly  it  crept  along  with  its  burden  of  wounded 
men;  my  companion   sprang   forward  as  soon  as  it 


184  AT  axchok: 

neared  us.  An  officer  in  a  colonel's  uniform,  assisted 
hj  a  servant  and  an  orderly,  was  among  the  first  to 
alight  from  the  cars ;  a  distinct  soldierly  voice  called 
"  Gertrude,"  and  in  an  instant  my  companion  was  at 
his  side. 

A  winning  girl  she  was,  with  all  her  freedom  and 
her  careless  dignity,  and  pretty,  too ;  pretty,  like  some 
one  I  had  seen  ;  indeed,  from  the  first,  I  had  watched 
her,  confident  I  had  somewhere  seen  her  face,  or  one 
like  it,  before. 

The  wounded  soldiers  were  obliged  to  be  taken  out 
at  this  point,  and  the  confusion  became  almost  fright 
ful,  as  Confederates  and  Federals,  our  own  and  our 
prisoners,  were  laid  upon  the  platform  together,  to 
await  removal  as  patiently  as  might  be.  A  young 
man  in  a  doctor's  uniform,  whom  I  had  noticed  very 
busily  watching  "  Gertrude,''''  while  she  was  with  me, 
secured  me  as  his  assistant,  and  won  my  admiration, 
by  his  quickness  and  kindly  manner  to  the  soldiers. 

The  prisoners  were  imder  guard,  but  no  one  pre- 
vented my  passing  among  them,  and  doing  for  them  the 
little  I  could,  as  I  had  been  doing  for  the  others ;  but  I 
was  rather  shy  of  using  a  privilege  which  no  one  else 
would  have  thought  of  taking,  and  occupied  myself 
with  my  new  friend  the  doctor.  In  passing  through 
the  crowd  a  man  rose  staggering  to  his  feet,  but,  un- 
able to  sustain  himself,  fell  almost  immediately.  I 
rushed  to  break  his  fall,  in  which  I  was  kindlv  assisted 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIN'TL   WAR.  185 

by  the  surgeon.  I  saw  the  face  of  the  man,  and  I 
made  a  desperate  effort. 

"  I  cannot  stay  longer,"  I  said  to  the  young  sur- 
geon, "  but  I  can  still  work ;  if  there  is  not  found  room 
for  all  your  wounded,  I  shall  be  really  honored  if  you 
will  turn  my  house,"  giving  him  its  number,  "  into  a 
hospital.  To  inaugurate  that  event  I  will  take  this 
man,  who  seems  to  have  appealed  to  me,  with  me,  if 
you  will  help  me ;  I  have  a  carriage  here." 

"  He's  a  prisoner,"  answered  the  doctor,  pointing 
to  his  uniform. 

"  So  he  is,"  I  said ;  "  but  having  made  up  my  mind 
to  take  him.  Federal  or  Confederate,  it  is  about  the 
same ;  I  presume  they  will  be  very  glad  to  have  one 
less  in  the  prison  hospital." 

"  I  have  noticed  a  very  interesting  soldier,  scarcely 
more  than  a  boy,  one  of  our  own;  he  looks  delicate,  too 
delicate  for  hospital  fare  ;  I  would  like  to  take  advan- 
tage of  your  kind  offer  for  him,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"  I  will  receive  him  with  much  pleasure,"  I  said  ; 
"  I  will  send  back  for  him." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  can  take  this  man,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  j^risoner. 

"  I  shall  and  must,"  I  answered,  with  the  decision 
of  desperation.  And  I  did  take  him,  thanks  to  the  ad- 
dress of  my  friend  the  surgeon,  and  thanks  to  the. 
lucky  chance  of  having  seen  "  Gertrude^"^  to  whom  it 
was  clear  I  was  indebted  for  the  doctor's  good-will. 


186  AT  anchor: 

The  prisoner,  wlio  was  now  almost  unconscious, 
was  lifted  and  carried  to  my  carriage. 

The  doctor,  whom  this  hour  of  mutual  work  had 
made  better  acquainted  with  me  than  months  of  society 
meetings,  offered  me  his  couj^e,  but  I  declined,  and 
showed  my  intention  of  going  with  the  soldier. 

"My  dear  lady,  that  is  impossible,"  urged  the 
doctor. 

"  Quite  possible,"  I  answered. 

"  God  bless  you  ladies ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor, 
closing  the  door  for  me. 

"  Don't,"  I  said,  "  there  was  never  less  patriotism 
or  charity — " 

I  could  not  finish  my  sentence.  Xot  patriotism  or 
charity,  what  then  ? 

My  patient  was  Gilbert  Stuart. 

Jack,  the  driver,  had  muttered  very  considerably 
as  Gilbert  was  being  helped  into  the  carriage,  which 
showed  me  the  Federal  uniform  was  quickly  recog- 
nized even  by  that  not  over-intelligent  African. 

Well  might  the  doctor  have  wondered ;  every 
motion  of  the  carriage  swayed  my  charge,  too  weak 
to  support  himself,  from  side  to  side.  My  anxiety  to 
escape  observation  almost  gave  way  before  my  vexa- 
tion at  my  position ;  but  I  supported  Gilbert  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  hurried  Jack  as  much  as  he  was  willing 
to  be  hurried.  Gilbert's  uniform  was  well-worn, 
besides  being  thick  with  mud  and  blood ;  one  of  his 


A   STOEY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  187 

shoulder-straps  had  been  carried  away,  evidently  by 
the  ball  that  had  wounded  him ;  the  other,  a  second 
lieutenant's  strap,  remained  ;  as  he  lay  apparently  un- 
conscious, I  succeeded  in  removing  it,  for  I  intended, 
or  thought  I  intended  seeing  no  more  of  him  after  I 
had  once  placed  him  in  such  comfort  as  could  be 
given  him. 

After  awhile  he  spoke,  and  I  started  to  find  he 
knew  me,  and  called  me  by  my  old  name,  "  Georgie." 

"  I  am  here,"  I  answered. 

"  Why  don't  we  push  on  for  Richmond  !  I  shall 
see  her.  Why  don't  we  push  on  ?  Take  care,  there, 
now ! " 

He  spoke  in  a  sleepy  kind  of  tone,  but  at  the  last 
word  his  voice  rose  almost  to  a  shout,  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  raving. 

"  Drive  fast,"  I  said,  letting  down  the  window. 

"  Yes,  Missus,"  ansAvered  Jack,  dutifully,  and  drove 
slower  than  before. 

Gilbert  continued  his  talk,  which  was  made  up  of 
drilling  directions,  battle  cries,  army  orders,  meaning- 
less words,  confused  scraps  of  poetry,  and  shouts  of 
"Richmond  to-night," — once  or  twice  he  spoke  my 
name, — a  talk  so  wild  and  confused  that  I  was  terrified. 

"  Drive  faster,"  I  ordered. 

"  Yes,  JMissus,  Xelly  is  berry  lame." 

"Come  back,  Georgie,"  said  Gilbert.  "On  to 
Richmond.      McClellan   won't   let   us.      Kearney  is 


188  AT  AXCHOR  : 

going.  I  am  going.  When  Marmiou.  On !  charge ! " 
— his  voice  rising  and  sinking,  and  these  the  only- 
intelligible  words.  I  was  more  than  terrified,  and  I 
must  have  shown  it,  for  Jack,  at  my  next  repetition  ol 
the  order, — it  was  the  first  I  had  ever  needed  to  repeat 
to  him, — turned  upon  the  box,  and  looked  down  at  me: 

"  Nelly  hardly  walk,"  he  said. 

"  This  man  is  suffering  terribly,"  I  said ;  "  get  on  in 
some  way." 

"  Is  yer  'fraid,  Missus  ?  "  Jack  asked,  with  a  look 
that  frightened  me  more  yet.  For  some  reason  Jack 
was  angry,  and  beyond  bounds ;  all  the  lashes  in  the 
South  could  not  have  subdued  him  then.  I  felt  he 
had  stepped  over  the  boundary  of  mistress  and  slave, 
and  for  a  moment  I  hesitated  what  course  to  pursue ; 
there  was  a  time  when  I  would  have  mastered  a 
VvUder  animal  than  he,  by  the  very  power  of  my  look 
and  voice.  I  did  not  feel  sure  of  myself  and  dared  not 
venture  it : 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  plaintively,  "  I  am  afraid." 

"  Missus  would  have  de  Yank  in  de  carriage,"  he 
grumbled.  "  Xebber  no  Yankee  lady  take  care  Massa 
Carl."     And  more  to  the  same  effect. 

"  No,"  I  said,  restored  a  little  to  myself,  "  but  I 
know  this  man,  and  once  when  Master  Carl  was 
among  strangers,  and  they  were  against  him,  this  man 
took  Master  Carl's  part." 

"  Missus  know  dat  ? "  Jack  said,  and  I  noticed  the 


A    STOEY    OF    OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  189 

horses  went  faster,  as  he  turned  to  them  and  then 
back  again  lor  my  answer. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  I  cannot  let  hun  die  as  if  he 
had  never  known  Master  Carl." 

Jack  wheeled  around,  and  Xelly  forgot  her  lame- 
ness. The  humiliation  of  that  conversation  ought  to 
balance  many  an  hour  of  stubborn  pride. 

As  the  carriage  went  faster  Gilbert's  excitement 
arose.  "  They  are  coming  !  they  are  coining  !  "  he 
shouted.  "  Who  says  retreat !  Oh !  they've  hit 
me!" 

.  "  Here,  you  good-for-nothing  niggers,"  Jack  cried, 
as  at  this  moment  we  reached  home,  "  what  for  you 
Stan'  grinning  dere  ?     Help." 

Then  there  was  a  rushing  to  and  fro  ;  every  room 
in  the  house  was  made  ready  for  use,  but  in  the  airiest 
and  prettiest  Gilbert  was  placed. 

Before  I  had  time  to  think  of  what  I  had  done,  the 
doctor  had  made  good  his  word,  and  the  rooms  were 
filled.  Two  ladies  and  a  Sister  of  Charity  came  with 
them.  One  of  these  ladies  I  had  long  known  well ;  the 
other,  an  elderly,  quiet  woman,  was  a  stranger. 

"  You  are  to  command  here,"  I  said  to  the  doctor, 
who  had  hardly  waited  for  that  permission. 

''  What  have  you  done  with  your  tyrant  f  "  he  asked 
me,  in  a  low  voice. 

I  did  not  understand  him,  and  said  so. 

"  I  mean  the  '  fierce  invader.'  " 


190  AT  Anchor: 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  Jack  has  taken  the  ojjjyressor  under 
his  protection.  It  is  hut  in  the  usual  order  of  things 
that  the  opiwessed  should  turn  the  other  cheek.  Will 
you  go  in  ?  " 

"  I  will  see  him  next." 

I  did  not  go  with  him ;  I  asked  the  Sister  of  Charity 
to  assist  the  doctor,  which  she  did  with  that  gentle- 
ness and  readiness  of  perception  that  seem  to  be  put 
on  with  the  black  caj). 

"  He  is  going  to  do  very  well,"  the  doctor  said, 
returning  to  me ;  "  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  keep  him 
here."  We  talked  a  while  about  the  probabilities ;  he 
gave  me  directions  about  the  others,  then  he  grew  red 
and  said : 

"I  see  your  sister  is  not  with  you,  I  think  you  are 
right ;  it  would  not  do  at  all,  decidedly  would  not  do 
at  all  for  her  to  be  here." 

"  My  sister  ?  "  I  repeated  ;  "  I  have  no  sister." 

"  The  young  lady  whom  you  sent  off  when  the 
train*  arrived,  is  she  not  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Xo,  indeed ;  how  came  you  to  imagine  so  ?  "  I 
did  not  say  I  knew  of  her  scarcely  more  than  he  did 
himself;  I  needed  the  doctor's  continued  favor. 

"  She  looked  like  you,"  he  answered. 

"  Like  me !  That  fragile,  blue-eyed  thing  like 
me  ! "  I  did  not  at  first  see  that  it  was  a  supposition 
made  to  find  out  something  of  her. 

"Kot  in  physique,"  he  answered  to  my  look  of 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  191 

surprise,  "but  a  resemblance  somewhere  there  cer- 
tainly is  ;  a  shadowy,  misty,  fleeting  resemblance,  yet 
a  resemblance,  like  a  full  bugle  blast  and  its  faint,  far- 
off  echo." 

"  It  seems  impossible ;  she  is  directly  my  oppo- 
site." 

"No,  only  your  echo,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"  She  has  a  lovely  face." 

"  God  in  heaven  send  her  grace,"  I  added. 

He  went  to  one  of  the  rooms,  dressed  a  wound, 
came  back,  washed  his  hands,  and  accepted  my  offer 
of  a  cracker  and  a  glass  of  wine,  which  he  took  hastily, 
standing. 

"Tour  friend  is  very  lovely,"  he  said,  reassured 
perhaps  by  the  wine ;  "  'I  do  beseech  you,  chiefly  that 
I  may  set  it  in  my  prayers,  her  name,'  or  words  to  that 
effect." 

'-''Gertrude!'''  I  answered;  "there's  satisfaction 
enough  for  one  day." 

"  That  implies  more  some  other  day  ?  I  appreciate 
the  kindness,  and  shall  live  on  the  anticipation." 

^Ve  three  nurses,  for  now  that  the  hardest  work 
was  over  the  Sisters  had  gone  to  the  hospital,  then  ap- 
plied ourselves  to  our  separate  charges.  I  sat  some 
time  by  Gilbert,  who  was  lying  in  such  evident  ex- 
haustion that  I  feared  he  would  never  revive.  While 
I  sat  I  thought  less  of  him  than  one  would  suppose ; 
much,  very  much  of  the  young  doctor,  and  the  strong 


192  AT  anchor: 

impression  a  pretty  emotionless  face  had  made  upon 
him;  and  while  I  thought  I  wondered  where  I  had 
seen  that  face  before :  I  knew  I  had  seen  it  before. 
Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  me,  and  ashamed,  yet  yield- 
ing to  the  temptation,  I  went  and  looked  in  Gilbert's 
pocket  for  the  miniature  he  had  once  shown  to  me. 
It  was  not  there;  but  I  knew  now,  I  could  not  reason 
myself  out  of  the  conviction  that  it  was  not  Kate's 
idealized  face,  but  "  Gertrude's  ;  "  younger,  more  child- 
ish, fainter-colored,  than  as  I  had  seen  it  that  day,  but 
her  face  surelv. 


CHAPTER  XYIIL 

It  had  become  a  settled  fact  in  the  household,  that 
"  Missus  "  was  taking  care  of  a  great  friend  of  "  Massa 
Carl's,"  which  vexed  me  greatly ;  it  seemed  hard  that 
not  even  death  could  screen  that  noble  name  from  be- 
ing mixed  in  deceit. 

I  had  told  the  truth  when  I  said  Mr.  Stuart  had 
spoken  for  Carl,  for  he  had  done  so,  slightly  enough, 
as  I  recorded  in  the  early  pages  of  my  life ;  but  not 
because  my  love  for  my  husband's  memory  endeared 
even  an  enemy  of  my  country  who  had  been  once  his 
friend,  as  the  servants  supposed,  nor  on  account  of  the 
intensity  of  my  charity  and  patriotism,  as  others 
thought,  had  I  brought  Gilbert  there ;  nor  yet  because 
the  old  love  lingered  still.  If  Gilbert  Stuart  stood 
before  me  in  health  and  freedom,  and  offered  me  his 
love,  the  love  I  had  striven  so  hard  to  gain,  the  love 
that  longing  for  had  imbittered  my  life,  hardened  my 
nature,  and  almost  broken  my  husband's  heart,  do  you 
think  I  would  have  accepted  it  ? 

When,  in  the  wounded  prisoner,  I  first  recognized 


194  AT  anchoe: 

Gilbert  Stuart,  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  my  very 
soul,  for  I  saw  the  chance  that  I  might  pay  him  back 
a  debt  I  owed  him.  I  owed  him  two  debts :  one  was 
a  debt  of  hatred  for  the  blight  he  had  put  upon  my 
youth ;  the  other  was  a  debt  of  thanks  that  he  had 
risked  his  life  to  bring  me  back  to  honor  and  safety ; 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  guess  which  debt  was  the  most 
oppressive  to  me. 

Very  ill  and  restless  he  was,  and  perfectly  uncon- 
scious that  I  was  any  other  than  a  stranger  to  him,  if 
indeed  he  was  not  unconscious  of  everything  around 
him.  Handsome,  in  a  strong  intense  way,  he  had  al- 
ways been ;  but,  refined  by  sickness,  his  eyes  bright 
with  fever,  and  the  bronze  not  yet  worn  off  his  cheeks, 
his  was  a  royal  face  to  gaze  upon ;  and  when  those 
great,  grand  eyes  that  in  old  times  had  sj)elled  me, 
glad  to  be  spelled,  and  bound  me,  and  commanded  and 
moved  and  stirred  my  veiy  soul, — eyes  that  had  been 
for  years  and  years  the  light  of  my  life,  when  they 
turned  upon  me,  the  old  habit  came  with  their  gaze. 

Again  and  again  I  resolved  to  go  to  him  no  more ; 
but  every  day  I  cared  for  him  more  anxiously,  more 
tenderly,  more  vainly  against  my  will  than  before. 

In  a  room  opening  into  the  one  I  had  given  Gil- 
bert, the  Confederate  soldier  of  whom  the  doctor  had 
•Spoken  to  me  during  the  discussion  about  taking  Gil- 
bert, had  been-  placed ;  the  quiet  elderly  lady  who 
came  with  the  wounded  men  took  the  almost  exclu- 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  195 

sive  charge  of  him,  and  we  often  had  long  talks  to- 
gether as  we  sat  by  the  open  doors. 

"  How  hot  it  is  !  "  she  said  one  day ;  "  if  we  only 
had  ice  for  theu*  wounds  !  I  am  often  grateful  that  I 
am  caring  for  a  stranger,  just  alone  for  the  agony  it 
would  be  to  see  one  of  my  own  loved  ones  burning 
with  pain,  and  so  little  relief  as  we  can  give  them. 
All  the  comforts  go  with  the  ISTorth ! " 

"  They  have  their  own  share,"  I  answered,  "  of 
sacrifices  and  privations,  and  we  have  our  comforts, 
too ;  our  soldiers  are  always  with  us.  I  doubt  not 
there  is  many  a  heart  aching  in  the  IN'orth  that  would 
count  it  beyond  all  comfort  to  sit  as  we  do  by  the 
side  of  soldiers  fresh  from  the  battle-field.  If  love,  or 
if  distance  will  not  let  us  do  for  those  who  are  dear  to 
us,  we  feel  as  if,  in  doing  it  for  some  brave  comrade, 
we  were  doing  for  them.  The  N'orthern  women  have 
not  these  opportunities  as  we  have." 

"  Little  do  they  care,"  she  returned ;  "  cold,  sensi- 
ble, model  women  as  .they  are !  There  is  too  much 
knowledge  of  mathematics,  of  metaphysics,  and  of 
housekeeping  crammed  into  them,  to  leave  much  room 
for  teuderness  or  patriotism." 

"  I  think,"  I  replied,  "  the  knowledge  widens,  not 
encumbers,  the  heart  and  mind.  I  know  from  that  lit- 
tle sentence  that  you  have  learned  disgust  for  has  hleiis^ 
but  is  it  quite  fair  to  blame  knowledg.e  and  education 
because  they  are  badly  used  ?    For  my  part  I  have 


196  AT  anchor: 

always  scorned  to  enter  into  discussions  upon  the  ca- 
pacity of  women  for  coping  with  men,  and  all  the 
thousand  times  repeated  arguments  and  denunciations 
which  go  with  the  subject.  Simple  enough  it  seems 
to  me.  God  has  given  us  but  one  pair  of  hands,  and 
given  us  all  an  equal  number  of  hours  in  which  to 
labor  and  to  take  our  rest.  If  to  one  woman  he  has 
given  a  ^splendid  talent  that  others  have  not,  have  we 
any  right  to  abuse  the  talent  because  the  woman  who 
has  that  which  we  have  not  should  fail  to  possess  that 
wliich  we  have  ?  If  a  woman  wills  her  household  du- 
ties shall  wait  upon  her  talent,  she  is  to  be  blamed  for 
a  choice  which  would  not  be  ours,  not  for  the  power 
of  making  a  choice.  If  I  were  an  artist  or  a  writer, 
or  anything  more  than  women  usually  are,  I  should 
make  my  choice  between  my  talent  and  household 
life.  If  I  loved  the  talent  best,  I  should  never  marry. 
If  I  did  marry,  I  should  use  my  talent  only  to  enlarge 
my  heart  and  fortify  my  common  sense.  It  is  true  all 
women  do  not  see  this  thing  as  I  do,  and  they  decide 
to  make  household  duties  second ;  then  thev  are 
blamed,  are  pronounced  cold,  as  if  mind  and  heart 
were  always  at  odds.  I  have  lived  a  great  deal  among 
Northern  women,  of  course,  as  I  am  from  the  Xorth 
myself,  and  I  cannot  call  them  cold,  or  allow  that  their 
hearts  are  not  large  and  loving.  I  wonder  if  they  are 
just  to  us,  or  if  they  blame  our  impulsiveness,  our  un- 
disciplined minds,  as  we  blame  them?" 


A   STOEY    OF    OUll   CIVIL   WAK.  197 

"  I  cannot  bear  the  thought,"  she  said ;  "  those  cold, 
methodical,  intolerant  women  ;  do  you  think  they  care 
for  their  soldiers  ;  do  you  think  they  open  their  houses 
to  them  as  we  do  ?  Oh,  if  I  only  knew  !  I  had  an 
only  son,  but — " 

She  paused  and  sighed. 

"  You,  too,"  I  said ;  "  is  there  any  one  whose  heart 
is  not  in  mourning  ?  " 

"My  son  is  not  dead,"  she  answered.  "It  were 
better  if  he  were.  He  is  a  traitor  ! — no,  not  a  traitor; 
no  man  is  a  traitor  so  long  as  he  is  true  to  his  con- 
science. He  would  not  listen  to  me ;  I  had  brought 
him  up  in  steady  faith,  but  it  was  of  no  use  when 
he  was  tested.  If  anything  happened  to  him,  those 
ISTorthern  women  would  treat  him  like  a  beggar,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"Do  not  for  a  moment  so  wrong  the Xorth ;  let  us 
be  just  to  our  enemies;  if  our  cause  is  right,  it  is 
light,  although  the  women  of  the  Xorth  were  angels 
or  were  barbarians.  We  gain  nothing  by  intolerance ; 
indeed,  it  is  that  bitterness,  that  unwillingness  to  be- 
lieve in  anything  good  from  those  that  are  opposed  to 
us,  which  most  injures  the  cause  of  our  country,  as  it 
has  long  terribly  hurt  the  cause  of  our  religion.  We 
claim  for  our  schools,  for  our  institutions,  for  our  very 
merchants  even,  as  much  as  if  their  perfection  were  an 
article  of  faith ;  we  will  not  own  that  a  Catholic  can 
do  wrong,  or  that  a  Protestant  can  do  right,  and  we 


198  AT  anchoe: 

are  making  tlie  same  mistake  in  regard  to  the  two 
sections.  It  is  true  we  hear  that  prosperity  and  ease 
and  luxury  are  with  the  Xorth ;  but  women,  South  or 
Xorth,  must  have  changed  their  nature  if  any  luxury 
can  steel  their  hearts  against  pain  and  suffering,  and 
and  oh !  the  pain  and  suffering  incurred  for  them  !  " 

"  You  are  a  Xorthem  woman, — would  you  be  just 
as  kind  if  you  believed  in  the  Northern  side  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  should  !  " 

"  You  know  the  Xorth.  Perhaps  you  think  I  ought 
not  to  care  what  becomes  of  my  boy,  now  that  he  has 
deserted  us ;  but  I  cannot.  He  is  my  son,  3-ou  know. 
I  thought,  when  pleading  failed,  that  I  might  frighten 
him ;  and  I  said,  if  he  put  on  the  Yankee  uniform,  I 
never  wanted  to  see  his  face  again ;  and  oh,  perhaps 
I  never  shall !  Do  yon  suppose  he  thought  I  meant 
it?" 

"  Surely  not,"  I  answered,  for  maternal  love  and 
tenderness  must  have  been  ever  imprinted  unmistak- 
ably upon  her  sweet  face.  "  It  is  from  you  he  must 
have  learned  to  follow  his  own  convictions,  at  whatever 
cost,  for  you  have  shown  him  the  example  at  a  price 
which  no  man  can  ever  wholly  apjDreciate  ;  he  surely 
honors  you  for  your  steadfastness,  though,  doubtless,  it 
seems  to  him  blindness,  and  cuts  him  to  the  heart  to 
remember  ;  so  you  should  honor  him  that  he  followed 
his  convictions.  You  could  not  ^vish  him  to  have  yield- 
ed his  principles  either  to  your  lo^e  or  to  your  anger." 


A   STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAE.  199 

'^Principles!  Do  you  suppose  they  really  think 
they  are  fighting  for  principles ! "  she  exclaimed ;  and 
I  was  angrier  then  than  when  I  tried  to  shut  out  the 
sounds  of  rejoicing  over  the  Bull  Run  battle. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  it  is  not  difiicult  to  im&gine 
that  a  nation  honorable,  liberal,  and  prosperous,  should 
fancy  itself  upholding  a  principle  when  it  stands  in 
arms  for  its  government  against  its  rebellious  sub- 
jects." 

"  That  is  their  way  of  putting  it,"  she  returned ; 
"I  suppose  you  understand  the  Xorth  better  than  I." 

"  Oh  !  do  not  speak  always  as  if  it  were  the  North 
we  are  warring  against ;  we  have  made  war  upon  the 
United  States,  and  the  United  States,  not  North, 
South,  East,  or  West,  has  declared  war  against  us." 

"  North,  South,  East,  or  West,"  she  replied ;  "  I 
hate  them  for  taking  my  boy  from  me.  I  have  never 
heard  one  word  from  him  since  Bull  Run.  I  would 
give  my  life  to  hear  of  his  safety." 

"  May  I  ask  his  name  ?"  I  said.  "  I  may  some  time 
chance  to  hear  from  or  of  him." 

"  My  son's  name  ? — James  Belton ;  he  was  a  cap- 
tain in  the  old  army  when  the  war  commenced." 

After  that  we  were  a  long  time  quiet.  As  I  heard 
that  name  I  seemed  to  see  again  the  little  group 
around  the  dinner-table,  and  my  husband,  flushed 
with  enthusiasm,  at  its  head;  and  again,  pale  and 
tired,  as  he  was,  when  he  lay  back  in  his  arm-chair 


200  AT  axchok: 

that  night  while  I  told  him  of  Captain  Belton's  letter. 
And  once  more  I  thought,  if  I  had  argued  and  reasoned 
with  him  as  I  ought,  he  might  have  been,  perhaps,  safe 
to-day,  or,  at  least,  his  name  might  have  been  enrolled 
among  the  defenders  of  that  flag  against  which  he  had 
fought,  but  under  the  starry  folds  of  which  he  now 
slept.  I  wondered,  too,  which  had  done  right ;  the 
mother  who,  with  breaking  heart,  had  torn  herself 
from  her  son  to  be  true  to  her  convictions,  or  the  wife 
who  had  been  false  to  her  convictions,  lackino^  courasre 
to  leave  her  husband.  I  walked,  indeed,  along  a  tan- 
gled path,  hardly  knowing  if  it  were  my  own  will  to 
go  forward,  backward,  or  stand  still;  but  somehow 
hoping  to  see  that  which  seemed  all  a  tangle,  all  con- 
fusion, woven  into  a  straight  and  meaning  road. 

The  Confederate  soldier  whom  Mrs.  Belton  had  left 
for  a  few  moments,  an  hour  after,  called  me  to  him. 

"  I  know  about  her  son,"  he  said  ;  "  his  name  was 
Belton,  she  said,  didn't  she  ?  Tou  are  sure  she  said 
Belton^ — James  Belton  ?  But  I  know  it  was  the  one ; 
he  was  a  colonel,  and  commanded  a  brigade.  And  this 
is  his  mother  taking  care  of  me  like  as  if  she  was  my 
own  Another ! " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  her  son  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  daren't  tell  you,"  he  answered ;  "  you  will  tell 
her,  and  she  will  never  come  near  me  after." 

"  I  will  not  tell  her  anything  you  do  not  wish  me 
to." 


A    STOEY    OF    OUE   CIVIL   WAE.  201 

"  I  only  clone  my  duty,"  he  told  me ;  "  when  we 
goes  to  fight,  fight  we  must,  and  done  with  it.  I  was 
in  a  company  of  sharpshooters,  ma'am,  and  -we  set  out 
to  hit  a  man  that  went  everywhere  on  a  white  horse 
like  as  if  the  devil  himself  couldn't  touch  him.  We 
used  to  call  him '  the  one-armed  deml^  ma'am.  No- 
body thought  I  could  do  much ;  and  says  I  to  myself, 
'  Just  you  hit  the  one-armed  devil,  Billy  Sayres,  and 
you'll  be  a  big  gun  ever  after.'  I  was  sure  I  had  him, 
when  there  was  a  crowd  consulting  together ;  but  up 
rides  another  man  and  dashes  by,  all  bright  with  tog- 
gery ;  nothing  less  than  a  General  that  time ;  I  fired, 
and  down  he  went ;  and  when  I  fired  again,  the  white 
horse  was  out  of  sight.  But  I  just  marked  the  place ; 
for,  says  I  to  myself,  '  I'll  get  a  heap  of  things  from 
him,  and  he  deserves  to  lose  them  for  spoiling  my  aim.' 
We  made  such  a  pile  there,  ma'am ;  'twasn't  much  use 
to  try  to  carry  him  off,  though  he  were  Georg^y  B. 
himself,  which  he  wasn't,  for  nobody  ever  knew  that 
sharpshooter  that  ever  had  a  sight  of  Mm.  So,  when 
nio-ht  came,  me  and  some  others  went  around,  and  I 
found  my  man.  Soon  as  ever  I  see  him,  I  knew  liim 
for  a  General  that  once  let  my  mother  off  down  in  the 
valley,  and  gave  our  folks  a  guard  just  as  often  as  they 
asked.  Mother  was  a  regular  Northerner,  and  this 
General  or  Colonel  he  knew  it.  I  wanted  some  clothes 
bad,  but  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  take  his.  I  was  very 
proud  to  take  down  a  General,  for  he  acted  like  a  Gen- 
9* 


202  AT   A^'CHOR. 

eral,  and  there  was  heaps  about  him  in  the  papers 
afterwards,  but  I  kind  of  wish'd  it  hadn't  been  him. 
I  thought  maybe  mother'd  like  something  that  was 
his ;  she  was  so  fond  of  him,  she'd  cook  him  pies,  and 
loved  him  like  as  if  he  were  a  '  Rebel.'  So  I  takes 
this  note-book,  ma'am ;  I  haven't  ever  opened  it,  I've 
just  held  on  to  it  all  the  time." 

Mrs.  Belton  had  put  away  his  old  clothes  very 
nicely,  as  he  now  wore  the  hospital  dress,  and  obeying 
his  directions  I  had  little  difBculty  in  finding  a  pack- 
age which  I  gave  to  him.  It  was  rolled  in  a  very  dirty 
newspaper,  which  the  soldier  unwound,  although  he 
was  too  weak  to  easily  accomplish  the  unrolling.  As 
he  attempted  handing  it  me  he  dropped  it,  and  the 
papers  scattered  around  the  floor  and  bed  ;  I  gathered 
them  up  hastily  and  replaced  them.  A  carte  de  visite 
attracted  my  attention,  for  it  laid  face  uppermost,  and 
was  one  of  a  set  I  had  had  taken  while  at  the  North, 
the  summer  before  the  war.  On  the  back  of  it  was 
wiitten,  ''Fi^om  Sr.  M  Z.,  Xor.  1861." 

It  seemed  natural  to  conclude  it  had  been  given 
him  by  some  one  of  the  Sisters  at  the  convent  where  I 
had  seen  Emma  Lewis,  for  I  had  left  several  there, 
and  with  real  joy  I  felt  I  had  lived  in  the  grateful 
remembrance  of  one  man;  one  person  had  not  met 
trouble  and  pain  through  me. 

"TTill  you  take  care  of  it,  ma'am,"  asked  the 
soldier,  "  and  give  it  to  her  after  I  am  gone  ?  Dori't 
tell  her  who  done  it." 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  203 

Poor  bright,  little  fellow,  cheerful,  grateful  as  he 
had  been,  interesting  and  winning  us  all,  he  lost  his 
spirits  after  this;  erysipelas  came  and  could  not  be 
conquered;  they  took  him  to  the  Sisters'  hospital, 
where  there  were  more  experienced  nurses;  Mrs. 
Belton  still  seeing  him  every  day ;  but  before  either 
she  or  I  knew  he  was  really  in  danger  he  died.  I  had 
forgotten  his  name,  which  he  had  repeated  in  his 
story  of  Captain  Belton's  death,  and  could  not  recall 
it  for  a  long  time.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have 
seen  or  written  to  his  mother,  and  regretted  my  own 
selfish  preoccupation  which  had.  not  anticipated  this 
event.  As  all  connected  with  him  now  comes  back,  I 
am  reminded  of  some  verses,  I  do  not  know  by  whom 
written,  I  have  since  seen,  which  are  so  suggestive  of 
the  many  scenes  we  saw  and  thoughts  we  felt  in 
those  bitter  days,  that  I  trust  no  apology  is  needed  for 
copying  them  here  : 

"SOMEBODY'S    DAKLIXG. 

"  Into  a  ward  of  the  white-washed  halls, 

Where  the  dead  and  dying  lay, 
Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells,  and  balls, 

Somebody's  darling  was  borne  one  day — 
Somebody's  darUng,  so  young  and  so  brave, 

Wearmg  yet  on  his  pale,  sweet  face, 
Soon  to  be  hid  by  the  dust  of  the  grave, 

The  Imgering  hght  of  his  boyhood's  grace. 


204  AT  ANcnoPw : 

"Matted  and  damp  are  the  curls  of  gold, 

Kissing  the  snow  of  the  fair  young  brow ; 
Pale  are  the  lips  of  delicate  mould — 

Somebody's  darling  is  dying  now. 
Back  from  his  beautiful,  blue-veined  brow, 

Brush  all  the  wandering  waves  of  gold ; 
Cross  his  hands  on  his  bosom  now — 

Somebody's  darling  is  still  and  cold. 

"  Kiss  him  once  for  somebody's  sake; 

Murmur  a  prayer,  soft  and  low ; 
One  bright  curl  from  its  fair  mates  take — 

They  were  somebody's  pride,  you  know. 
Somebody's  hand  has  rested  there — 

"Was  it  a  mother's,  soft  and  white  ? 
And  have  the  lips  of  a  sister  fair 

Been  baptized  in  the  waves  of  Ught  ? 

*'  God  knows  best !     He  has  somebody's  love  ; 

Somebody's  heart  enshifoed  him  there ; 
Somebody  wafted  his  name  above. 

Night  and  morn,  on  the  wings  of  prayer. 
Somebody  wept  when  he  marched  away, 

Looking  so  handsome,  brave,  and  grand; 
Somebody's  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay. 

Somebody  clung  to  his  parting  hand. 

"  Somebody's  waiting  and  watching  for  him — 

Yearning  to  hold  him  again  to  her  heart ; 
And  there  he  lies,  with  his  blue  eyes  dim, 

And  the  smiling,  child-like  lips  apart. 
Tenderly  bury  the  fair  young  dead. 

Pausing  to  drop  on  his  grave  a  tear  ; 
Carve  on  the  wooden  slab  at  his  head, 

'  Somebody's  darhng  slumbers  here.' " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Theee  came  a  day  when  Gilbert  slept  quietly,  and 
the  doctor,  my  young  friend,  said  that  when  he  awoke 
the  fever  would  be  gone. 

He  slept  on  until  it  grew  so  dusky  that  he  could 
not  recognize  me.  I  knew  very  well  that  I  ought  not 
to  let  him  recognize  me,  nor  let  him  knoAv  that  I  had 
been  near  him ;  yet  it  seemed  very  hard — you  do  not 
need  that  I  should  tell  you  how  hard ;  but  he  was  not 
free,  and  every  voice  of  duty,  j^ride,  and  self-respect 
sternly  demanded  that  I  should  do  so.  I  hoped,  as  I 
sat  in  the  dim  light,  he  would  wake  and  speak  in  his 
natural  voice  again.  It  would  seem  like  a  dream  of 
home, — and  moie.  But  it  grew  along  late  into  the 
night,  so  late  I  could  not  longer  delay  having  lights, 
and  he  still  slept ;  so  1  forced  myself  from  the  seat  at 
his  side,  and  for  the  last  time  put  the  bottles  in  order, 
lowered  the  curtains,  stood  by  him  a  moment,  and  then 
gave  him  into  Mrs.  Belton's  charge. 

"  I  knew  him  once,"  I  said  to  her,  "  and  I  do  not 
care  to  have  him  know  that  I  have  seen  him.     Please. 


206  AT  anchoe: 

avoid  mentioning  my  name,  or  saying  any  thing  that 
will  arouse  his  suspicions.  I  will  do  as  much  as  I  can 
to  avoid  extra  trouble  to  you ;  the  only  thing  is,  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  seen  by  him." 

Day  after  day  I  prepared  every  delicacy  I  possibly 
could  to  send  him,  and  every  day  I  heard  that  he  was 
slowly  gaining  strength.  ^Miat  wild,  foolish  things  I 
did,  it  would  be  as  foolish  to  name  here ;  how  I  sent  him 
soups  and  jellies  in  my  finest  silver  and  china  dishes, 
accompanied  by  flowers,  and  every  fancy  I  could 
devise  to  please  his  taste  or  tempt  his  appetite.  I 
searched  my  library  for  the  books  I  thought  he  would 
like  best,  and  when  they  were  returned,  I  cherished 
them  for  that  they  had  been  with  him ;  but  I  kept  my 
resolution  well,  and  did  not  once  see  him. 

The  young  surgeon  and  myself  were  now  excellent 
friends ;  he  had  known  my  husband  and  many  of  my 
Southern  friends  well,  and  besides  being  genial,  lively, 
and  warm-hearted  by  nature,  was  agreeable,  accom- 
plished, and  pleasing  by  cultivation. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mademoiselle  '  Gertrude '  lately  ?  " 
he  asked  me,  one  day.  "  Her  sweet  face  quite  haunts 
me,  and  is  evidently  intended  to  exercise  an  extensive 
influence  over  my  destiny.  How  eagerly,  three  years 
ao"0, 1  would  have  followed  it ;  but  now  I  almost  count 
it  sin  to  think  of  any  thing  but  those  there,"  pointing 
to  the  hospital ;  "  but — she  had  a  lovely  face  !  " 

"  And  a  face  however  lovely,  I  ask  as  a  matter  of 


A   STOET    OF    OUR   CITIL   WAR.  207 

curiosity,  Ccan  it  inspire  and  sustain,  for  nearly  six 
weeks,  an  interest  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man?"  I 
asked. 

"  For  six  times  six  weeks,"  he  answered,  "  when 
the  face  is  as  fair  as  hers ! " 

"  How  very  absurd  !  How  very  small  the  worth 
of  a  heart  given  to  a  face;  to  no  sweetness  of  dis- 
position, to  no  brilliancy  of  thought,  or  dejDth  of  char- 
acter, but  simply  to  red  cheeks  and  blue  eyes  !  I 
should  be  humbled  so  to  make  a  conquest." 

"  Then  your  pride  has  surely  had  many  a  fall. 
But  '  Gertrude  ' — a  romantic  name,  is  it  not  ? — but 
Gertrude,  if  I  read  her  face  rightly,  would  have  no 
such  nice  scruples,  I  fancy." 

"  Well,  fate  seems  to  have  decreed  that  you  shall 
be  interested  in  her,  and  will  most  likely  bring  you 
yet  to  her  feet,  and  then  we  shall  see." 

"  Then  we  shall  see  !  Haven't  I  won  grrace  enough 
from  you  yet  to  secure  an  introduction  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  so  I  am  to  lay  all  this  benevolent  assistance 
to  the  account  of  Mademoiselle  Gerti-ude  !  Permit  me 
to  moralize :  Here  am  T,  a  woman  not  remarkably  ugly, 
and,  as  women  go,  sensible ;  for  six  weeks  I  have  work- 
ed with  you  in  the  best  cause  possible — that  of  suffer- 
ing humajiity;  have  obeyed  your  every  instruction 
most  implicitly ;  have  made  your  patients  take  your 
bitter  medicines,  to  please  you ;  have  watched  your 
incomings  and  outgoings ;  have  in  all  things  conducted 


208  AT  anchor: 

myself  in  tlie  most  humble  and  polite  manner  possible, 
humbly  enough,  one  would  think,  to  melt  the  heart  of 
a  tyrant ;  and  when,  at  the  end,  I  think  I  have  won  a 
little  consideration,  lo  and  behold  !  I  am  esteemed 
only  for  the  fact  that  for  fifteen  minutes  I  once  was 
seen  talking  with  a  '  lovely  and  accomplished  female.' 
Verily,  it  is  hard  to  say  to  which  of  us  the  fact  is  most 
humiliating ! " 

"  You  speak  in  jest,  but  your  words  have  a  world 
of  meaning.  It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life.  That 
I  honor  and  esteem  you,  that  I  bow  down  to  you  as 
to  a  noble  and  beautiful  woman,  and  that  it  will  be 
my  pride  all  my  life  to  feel  that  I  have  been  a  co- 
laborer  with  one  so  earnest,  and  yet  that  all  this 
talent  and  virtue  gains  additional  light  from  a  pair  of 
blue  eyes  once  seen,  perhaps  never  to  be  seen  again, 
is  a  mystery  which  is  so  common  one  hardly  notes  it, 
and  which  cannot  be  explained.  Is  it  humbling  ?  I 
cannot  feel  it  so.  It  is  to  me  a  proof  of  the  wonderful 
power  of  the  soul,  that  sees  beyond  our  mortal  vision, 
and  recognizes — what  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough,  ichat  ?  Neither  you  nor  I  can  tell. 
It  may  be  a  Joan  of  Arc,  or  a  Lucrezia  Borgia,  though 
I  hardly  think  it ;  it  may  be  a  St.  Teresa  or  a  Flora 
MacFlimsey  for  all  either  of  us  know." 

"  It  rouses  my  curiosity,  and  I  mean  to  know." 

"  That  depends  not  upon  yourself,  but  on  her  will 
and  pleasure.     We  only  know  as  much  of  each  other 


A   STORY   OF   OIIE   CIVIL  WAE.  209 

in  the  closest  relations  of  life,  as  others  choose  that  we 
shall  know." 

"  You  frighten  me  !  But  Mademoiselle  is  apparent- 
ly an  amiable  young  lady,  and,  if  you  will  give  me  an 
introduction,  the  stupid  formula  that  bridges  over  the 
dreadful  gulf  that  no  heroism,  no  devotion,  no  good- 
ness can  pass  over,  I  hope  to  know  considerable  of 
her.  How  very  powerful  it  is,  that  little  formula  !  I 
may  have  met  you  every  day  for  twenty  years,  have 
known  half  the  incidents  of  your  life,  yet  not  venture 
on  so  much  as  a  bow  in  the  street ;  while  some  stran- 
ger, never  heard  of  before,  is  made  intimate  at  once  by 
half  a  dozen  rapid  words.  Pray  you,  speak  them  for 
me." 

"  I  do  not  know  her  myself.  She  chose  to  bridge 
over  the  gulf  you  find  so  impassable  in  her  own  way. 
I  never  saw  her  but  that  once  ;  do  not  even  now  know 
more  of  her  name  or  address  than  that  her  father  called 
her  '  Gertrude:  " 

"  That  is  very  bad.  Is  she  a  myth,  think  you,  or 
an  angel  rather,  assuming  mortal  guise,  just  to  fill  my 
head  with  dreams  ?  " 

"  Xonsense  !  " 

"]N'o,  dreams." 

"  If  I  meet  her  again,  I  will  cultivate  her  friendship 
for  your  sake,  if  not  for  my  own,  for  I  perceive  you 
are  growing  desperate." 

"  Not  growing,  but  grown.     Now  I  have  exhausted 


210  AT  ai^chor: 

my  daily  allowance  of  folly,  and  bid  you  good 
day." 

"  That  is  consistent  with  your  compliments !  Good 
day." 

A  slisfht,  li2:ht-haii'ed  man  in  a  colonel's  uniform 
now  became  known  to  me  in  my  walks.  Once  I  met 
him  face  to  face,  and  he  started  and  stared,  and,  I  had 
the  feeling,  looked  after  me  when  I  passed.  He 
repeated  this  performance  every  time  he  met  me, 
which  was  nearly  every  day.  One  morning,  when  I 
was  a  little  later  than  usual,  I  found  myself  walking 
behind  him.  This  time  he  Avas  not  alone ;  a  slender 
young  girl,  dressed  in  a  very  pretty  summer  suit,  and 
a  stylish  "jockey  hat,"  had  his  arm.  I  knew  her  at  the 
first  turn  of  her  head.  It  was  "  Gertrude."  Without 
intending  it,  I  followed  them  some  distance,  until  I 
suddenly  found  we  were  at  the  depot.  I  turned  back 
at  once. 

I  was  delayed  a  little  by  an  old  woman  with  a 
piteous  story  to  tell..  "While  listening  to  her,  "  Ger- 
trude "  came  toward  me,  alone,  and  visibly  crying. 
I  bowed,  and  took  a  step  or  two  toward  her.  She 
se'emed  embarrassed,  but  advanced  a  little. 

"Did  you  mind  my  rushing  off  so  rudely  that 
day  ?  "  she  said,  as  if  in  order  to  say  something.  "  It 
was  not  right,  when  you  had  been  so  kind  as  to  tell 
me  about  the  trains." 

"  I  should  have  been  very  sorry  to  have  had  you 


A    STOEY    OF    OFE   CrV'IL   WAE.  211 

more  polite,"  I  answered.  "  I  was  glad  to  see  your 
father  came." 

"  Yes,  poor  papa !  "  she  said,  her  tears  bursting 
out  afresh.  "  Now  he  is  gone.  He  took  his  last  walk 
with  me  this  morning,  just  to  show  me  how  well  he  could 
bear  it ;  but,  indeed,  he  is  not  able  to  go  yet.  May  I 
walk  with  you  ?  "  she  added.  "  I  do  not  know  any  one 
here  that  can  understand  how  I  feel  to-day.  I  left 
mamma  in  hysterics.  It  makes  me  cross  to  have  her 
feel  so  badly.  When  will  it  be  over !  Papa,  poor 
papa !  he  went  away  so  gloomy,  although  things  look 
brighter  than  ever  now." 

"  I  am  going  up  to  the  hospital,"  I  answered.  "  I 
would  like  yery  much  to  have  you  go  with  me." 

"  I  would  love  to,  dearly ;  but  perhaps  papa  would 
not  like  it." 

"  If  you  will  trust  to  that  instinctive  knowledge 
which  women  generally  have  of  each  other,  you  may 
rely  upon  me  to  take  care  of  you.  I  will  not  let  you 
see  any  of  the  badly  wounded  men;  we  will  pass 
through  only  one  ward.  I  have  some  things  to  give 
one  of  the  nurses." 

"  I  will  go,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of 
anything  that  you  are  not." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  your  mother  first — will  she  be 
anxious  ?  " 

"  Mamma  ? — she  would  not  mind  if  I  stayed  away 
a  month.     She  knows  you  by  sight ;  a  friend  of  ours 


212  AT  AlN'CHOIl  : 

spoke  to  lis  about  you  one  day — some  one  who  had 
known  Major  Aberthnay.     I  am  so  sorry  for  you  ! " 

As  we  walked  and  talked,  her  depression  wore 
away  ;  her  nature  was  not  one  to  retain  any  emotion 
for  any  length  of  time.  I  exerted  myself  to  amuse  her, 
trying  the  while  to  think  whether  I  would  do  well  to 
meet  my  friend.  Dr.  Carr,  at  the  same  time  that  a 
thought  was  darting  back  and  forth  in  my  mind,  what 
effect  would  it  have  if  I  were  to  lure  her  to  my  house, 
and  let  her  see  Gilbert  ? 

At  the  hospital  door  we  met  the  doctor,  and  I 
observed  with  much  amusement  that  lie  retained  his 
color  and  his  composure  under  the  imexpected  gaze  of 
my  companion's  eyes.  With  the  same  politeness  as 
usual,  with  perhaps  a  shade  more  of  ceremony,  he 
accompanied  us  into  the  hospital,  and,  when  my  visit 
to  the  vrard  was  over,  offered  to  show  us  other  parts 
of  the  building.  Gertrude  had  told  the  simple  truth, 
when  she  said  she  had  learned  the  art  of  flirting ;  her 
eyes  did  the  Avork  of  a  dozen  ordinary  paii's  that  day. 
She  despised  the  ordinary  glances  of  surj^rise,  dismay, 
and  affected  interest ;  she  gave  cool  politeness  to  all 
the  doctor's  explanations,  and  attentive  earnestness  to 
my  slightest  remarks  ;  her  blue  eyes  alternately  fanned 
and  kindled  the  doctors  already  well-fired  heart,  while 
I  watched  the  comedy  with  as  much  interest  as  one 
can  who  sees  behind  the  acting. 

I  did  not  leave  my  new  friend  until  she  had  ex- 


A    STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  213 

pressed  her  pleasure  at  meeting  me,  and  eagerly 
accepted  my  invitation  to  visit  me. 

Oiie  thing  and  another  detained  me  that  morning, 
and  Avhcn  I  reached  home,  Mrs.  Belton  met  me  with  a 
serious  face,  and  said : 

"Tlie  soldier  in  your  front  room  that  we  have 
taken  care  of  so  much,  is  a  Yankee ;  they  came  for 
him  this  morning,  told  me  of  it,  and  have  taken  him 
away." 

"  Where  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  the  prison  hospital,  I  suppose,"  she  answered. 
"  If  I  had  known  he  was  a  Yankee,  I  could  have  asked 
him  about  my  son.  Who  would  ever  have  thought  it, — 
so  gentlemanly,  so  polite,  so  intelligent,  and  a  Yankee  ?  " 

"  And  he  is  gone  ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  he  is  gone.  To  think  of  his  audacity, 
palming  himself  off  for  one  of  our  men,  and  getting 
taken  care  of  by  us  !  " 

"  He  had  not  such  a  thought ;  he  was  quite  uncon- 
scious when  he  came  here." 

Gone  !  How  my  life  sank  down  again !  how  wretch- 
ed the  city  seemed !  how  long  the  days,  varied  by  no 
labors  for  him  ! 

I  had  left  of  him  only  that  one  faded  strap, — not  a 
word,  not  a  glance  of  recognition  even ;  and  now  he 
was  gone.  Twice  I  had  singularly  and  unexpectedly 
had  him  brought  before  me,  but  how  could  I  ever 
hope  for  such  a  chance  again  ? 


214  AT   AXCHOK. 

I  dragged  myself  from  street  to  street  of  that 
pestilent  city,  thinking  it  my  duty  to  toil  there ;  to  do 
there  the  only  good  my  hands  had  ever  found  to  do, 
and  to  expiate,  by  hourly  self-sacrifice,  the  sins  of  my 
Hfe. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I  SAW  a  great  deal  of  Gertrude,  and  tried  to  lead 
her  to  speak  of  her  life  at  the  N'orth  ;  but  my  efforts 
were  successful  only  in  so  far  as  they  drew  forth  count- 
less confessions  of  extravagance,  flirting,  and  the  usual 
sins  and  pastimes  of  young  ladyhood.  I  had  quite 
abandoned  the  fancy  that  her  face  was  like  the  face  in 
the  miniature  Gilbert  Stuart  had  shown  me,  and  I  was 
already  quite  weary  of  her  pretty  vanities  and  small 
ambitions;  but  she  clung  all  the  more  to  me.  Her 
father's  letters  she  often  read  to  me ;  they  were  full  of 
affection,  but  such  letters  as  one  would  write  to  a 
child,  not  to  a  girl  of  twenty.  Her  mother  I  had 
never  seen,  but  I  judged  her,  from  Gertrude's  descrip- 
tion, to  be  an  inefficient,  hysterical,  uncomfortable 
woman,  with  little  brains  and  less  intelligence.  Ger- 
tie, whose  other  name,  by  the  way,  was  the  same  as 
my  own  had  been — Vane — needed  little  urging  to 
escape  as  often  as  possible  from  the  confusion  of  an 
immense  family  under  the  capricious  rule  of  Mrs.  Yane, 
and  domesticate  herself  vrith  me. 


216  AT  anchor: 

A  thoroughbred  coquette  I  knew  her  to  be  from 
the  first ;  but  I  was  surprised  to  find  that,  young  as 
she  was,  she  had  been  several  times  engaged,  and  now 
wore  upon  her  forefinger  a  brilliant  diamond,  whose 
giver  she  declared  to  be  odious  to  her,  but  whose  ring 
she  wore  because  it  was  pretty. 

"  Every  thing  he  ever  gave  me,"  she  said,  "  was  on 
a  magnificent  scale.  I  believe  I  came  nearer  loving 
him  than  I  ever  did  anybody." 

"Whowas'Ae'?" 

"  My  first  love ;  I  never  told  any  one  about  him ; 
it  is  quite  a  romance;  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  you, 
if  you  promise  beforehand  never  to  tell  any  one,  not 
to  laugh  at  me,  nor  to  blame  me." 

"A  woman  will  promise  anything  to  have  her  curi- 
osity gratified.     Let  us  hear  the  story." 

"  I  must  see  you  comfortably  at  your  work  first,  for 
it  is  a  long  story ;  but  it  is  quite  a  romance,  I  assure 
you ;  I  mean  to  tell  it  to  some  authoress  some  day ;  it 
would  sound  so  nicely,  all  worked  up  into  a  novel, 
with  the  fixings  and  framing  they  jDut  in.  Xow  I've 
said  so  much,  you  will  expect  it  to  be  more  than  it  is, 
and  perhaps,  after  all,  you  won't  think  it  interest- 
ing." 

"  Certainly  I  shall,  and  you  can  make  it  as  long  as 
you  please,  only  don't  interrupt  yourself  vdih  aj^olo- 
gies,  as  you  so  often  do,  but  tell  the  story  straight  on." 
For  I  had  a  way  of  thinking  my  own  thoughts  while 


A   STOEY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  217 

Gertie  told  her  stories,  and  she  never  suspected  that  I 
was  not  an  attentive  listener. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  went  to  school  at  Madame 
Chegary's,  and,  as  I  have  told  you,  in  spite  of  all  her 
vigilance,  remonstrances,  and  lectures,  I  did  contrive 
to  have  a  pretty  good  time,  and  one  or  two  flirtations. 
I  never  did  like  to  study,  and  was  wild  to  go  into 
society,  so  that  one  year  I  got  papa  to  promise  that 
I  might  leave  school  just  as  soon  as  I  was  sixteen,  and 
papa  never  breaks  a  promise.  When  the  day  came, 
for  I  knew  papa  would  do  as  he  said,  I  packed  up  my 
book,  kissed  the  girls  all  around  the  school,  and  posi- 
tively refused  to  say  any  lessons.  Every  moment  I 
expected  papa  to  come  for  me,  but  half  the  day  was 
spent  in  waiting  before  I  heard  a  word,  and  then  it 
was  a  note  from  mamma  ;  she  was  at  the  St.  Nicholas, 
— sick,  of  course ;  mamma's  always  sick, — where  I  was 
to  join  her,  and  wait  for  papa  to  meet  us,  as  soon  as 
ever  he  could  get  on.  I  did  not  like  this  much,  I  can 
tell  you,  for  mamma  always  sticks  close  to  her  room, 
and  to  sing,  or  move,  almost  to  breathe,  sends  her 
into  hysterics;  so,  of  course,  I  did  not  look  forward  to 
much  pleasure. 

"  Every  day  we  expected  papa  to  come,  and  so  I 
tried  to  be  patient,  and  bear  with  the  best  grace  I 
could  the  imprisonment  in  mamma's  room,  which  was 
worse  than  any  thing  at  Madame's ;  but  of  course  I 
was  dreadfully  bored,  shut  up,  like  a  nun,  in  the  great 
10 


218  AT  anchoe: 

hotel,  with  lots  of  ftin  going  on  everywhere,  and  not 
the  glimmering  of  a  chance  to  join  in  it,  beyond  a  lit- 
tle flirting  now  and  then,  in  the  passages,  Avhenlcould 
escape  from  mamma.  You  look  shocked ;  of  course  I 
would  not  do  such  things  now,  but  that  was  ever  so 
many  years  ago,  and  I  was  very  young  and  very  wild ; 
and,  you  know,  girls  of  sixteen  very  often  do  things 
they  blush  to  remember  at  twenty, — we  won't  say 
twenty  how  much. 

"After  a  day  or  two  I  went  around  to  see  the 
girls;  you  may  be  sure  I  did  not  tell  them  what  a 
stupid  time  I  was  having.  I  made  a  great  deal  of  talk, 
as  if  I  had  been  having  a  royal  time.  When  they 
coaxed  and  teased  me  to  go  -^dth  them  to  a  concert 
that  night,  I  pretended  to  consider,  and  finally  said, 
if  mamma  had  made  no  engagement  for  me  I  would. 
Mamma  had  bought  me  some  lovely  new  dresses,  and 
just  the  dearest  opera-hat  in  the  world ;  there's  one  thing 
I  will  say  for  mamma,  she  has  perfect  taste  in  dress. 

"  When  I  got  home  mamma  told  me  I  had  had  a 
call  from  some  one  who  had  not  asked  to  see  her  ;  the 
card  was  around  the  room  somewhere,  she  said.  I 
went  around  hunting  for  it,  mighty  curious,  you  may 
well  believe,  to  know  who  had  called  on  me.  It  was  a 
gentleman's  name,  mamma  condescended  to  remember. 
I  could  only  imagine  some  of  the  day-scholars  had  put 
their  brothers  up  to  it,  or  that  possibly  some  of  the 
fellows  we  used  to  flirt  with  had  found  me  out,  and 


A   story'  of    Om    CIVIL   WAR.  219 

had  the  impudence  to  call.  This  last  supposition  gave 
me  a  good  fright.  At  last  I  found  the  card.  It  was 
a  written  card.  I  remember  just  how  I  felt  when  I 
read  the  name.  Heigho  !  I  have  read  that  name 
many  times  since  !  Well,  on  the  back  of  the  cai'd  was 
a  note.     I  think  I  can  remember  it : 

."  'My  dear  Miss  Vane, 

'  I  saw  your  name  in  the  list  of  arrivals  in  last 
evening's  paper.  Is  not  Mr.  Vane  coming  on  soon  ? 
I  afn  very  much  disappointed^  not  to  meet  you,  hut 
will  call  again  to-morrow.  If  I  ca7i  he  made  useful, 
in  Mr.  Vaiie's  absence,  do  not  hesitate  to  command  me. 
I  am  at  the  Everett  Souse.  Gilbert  Stuart.' 

"  Isn't  it  a  romantic  name  ?  I  thought  so  then 
and  I  think  so  now.  I  did  not  know  the  man  from 
Adam.  There  was  a  horrible  old  fogy  whom  I  used 
to  know  in  Virginia,  by  the  name  of  Stuart,  but  he 
couldn't  have  written  such  a  note  to  save  his  life.  It 
was  such  a  round,  fiill  hand,  yet  so  graceful  and 
formed, — I  will  show  you  some  time,^that  I  knew  the 
man  who  wrote  it  must  be  nice ;  and  I  was  mighty 
sorry  I  was  not  his  ^liss  Yane,  for,  of  course,  you 
know,  the  note  had  been  taken  to  the  wrong  room.  I 
knew  the  little  note  all  by  heart  before  I  could  make 
up  my  mind  to  send  it  to  the  right  Miss  Yane,  for  you 
can  imagine,  in  a  life  such  as  mine  had  been,  the  least 
little  excitement  was  very  welcome.     At  last,  how- 


220  AT  ai?^chor: 

ever,  I  got  my  courage  up,  and  sent  the  waiter  with 
the  little  card  to  the  other  Miss  Yane,  while  I  sat 
wishing.  I  don't  suppose  women,  like  you,  ever  do 
such  foolish  things ;  but  silly  girls,  such  as  I  expect 
always  to  be,  do  give  way  to  such  wishes  sometimes. 
I  sat  wishing  my  time  had  come  for  gentlemen  to  send 
me  dear  little  notes,  and  put  themselves  at  my  service, 
when  back  came  the  waiter.  There  wasn't  any  other 
Miss  Yane,  nor  hadn't  been  any  other  Miss  Yane,  at 
the  hotel.  I  took  back  the  card,  and  had  a  great  ^lind 
to  let  him  call  and  see  me  before  finding  out  his  mis- 
take ;  but  I  knew  it  would  not  do,  so  I  wrote  him  a 
line,  just  as  nicely  as  I  could  write,  arid  told  him  the 
mistake  he  had  made ;  before  I  had  time  to  seal  it  the 
girls  came,  and  I  went  to  the  concert. 

"  Now  if  I  hadn't  been  hurried  ofi"  without  sealing 
that  letter  what  a  difference  there  would  have  been  in 
the  lives  of,  at  least,  two  persons;  for  Lottie  Ellis, 
who  sat  next  me  at  the  concert, — for  which  concei*t,  be 
it  known,  we  neither  of  us  cared  a  rush, — Lottie  Ellis 
somehow  got  out  of  me  about  the  card,  and  as  she  is 
always  ready  for  mischief,  she  said,  '  Oh,  I  wouldn't  do 
such  a  silly  thing  as  to  send  it  back.  He  may  be  some 
one  who  has  been  in  love  with  you  this  eyer  so  long, 
who  has  taken  this  way  for  meeting  you,  and  it  is  flying 
riglit  in  the  face  of  destiny  to  do  such  a  ridiculous 
thinor ;  ^ait  and  see  what  comes  of  it.  I  would  act  the 
real  Miss  Yane,  if  it  so  be  that  it  is  not  you  he  means.' 


A   STOET    OF    OUR    CIYLL   WAK.  221 

"'How  can  I?  he  will  know  the  difference  the 
minute  he  sees  me,'  I  said,  '  and  that  will  be  to- 
morrow.' 

"  '  Oh,  you  goose ! '  said  she,  '  what  need  to  let  him 
see  you  ?  There  are  fifty  places  where  you  can  be 
when  he  calls ;  it  isn't  to  be  expected  that  you  can 
stay  in  all  day  to  wait  for  him,  and  afterwards  you 
can  write  a  lovely  little  note  of  regret.  You  know 
you  write  the  sweetest  notes.' 

"  '  Oh  !  I  would  not  dare,'  I  said,  '  he  would  know 
it  was  not  her  writing.' 

"  '  Ten  chances  to  one  he  has  never  seen  her  writ- 
ing,' Lottie  urged,  '  and  besides,  ladies  all  write  alike ; 
you  can  write  as  if  in  a  great  hurry,  and  if  it  is  very 
unlike  her  hand,  and  he  knows  it,  he  will  lay  it  to  that. 
But  I  believe  you  are  the  Miss  Yane  ;  he  is  some  one 
who  is  in  love  with  you,  I  knoAV.  I'll  tell  you ;  don't 
send  the  letter  yet,  and  we  can  go  to  the  parlor  to- 
morrow and  see  him, — I  can,  not  you,  for  the  waiter 
would  be  sure  to  say  there  is  Miss  Vane, — and  I  will 
report  what  he  looks  like.  You  can  give  the  waiter 
orders  to  say  you  are  not  at  home.' 

"  I  consented  to  that,  of  course,  for  there  was  noth- 
ing in  doing  that  much,  and  the  next  day  Lottie  came 
bright  and  early,  as  glad  of  the  fun,  almost,  as  if  she 
were  the  principal  in  it. 

"With  the  most  exemplary  patience  she  sat  in 
the  first  parlor  and  waited ;  with  far  less  patience  I  sat 


222  AT  axchor: 

up  stairs  and  waited.  At  last  Lottie  rushed  up  stairs 
almost  out  of  breath,  and,  as  by  good  luck,  mamma 
was  all  day  too  sick  to  rise,  we  had  a  grand  talk. 
Lottie  was  perfectly  enchanted ;  she  said  he  was  hand- 
some as  a  prince,  tall  and  splendid^  a  school-girl's  beau 
ideal,  tall  and  splendid  and  dark.  Xo  school- 
girl's hero  ever  had  any  but  dark  eyes  and  black  hair, 
nor  did  he  ever  fail  to  be  tall  and  splendid.  'Oh, 
he  looked  so  disappointed ! '  Lottie  told  me  ;  '  it  was 
the  richest  fan  ever  was !  I  won't  let  you  give  it  up 
now  ;  I  am  just  in  love  with  him  myself,  and  if  I  were 
in  your  place  I  would  have  him  dead  in  love  with  me 
in  a  week.  Xow,  I've  got  to  go  home  soon,  and 
before  I  go  I  want  to  see  your  note  written,  for  it 
wouldn't  do  not  to  write  something.  Evidently  the 
man  is  in  love  with  Miss  Vane,  whether  3Iiss  Vane 
means  you  or  somebody  else  ;  just  .as  evidently  he  is 
not  engaged  to  her,  or  he  would  not  call  her  Miss  ;  it 
is  also  very  clear  that  he  is  on  good  terms  with  her ; 
and  if  with  so  much  knowledge  to  start  with,  you  and 
I  do  not  succeed  in  making  a  j^retty  big  romance,  we 
are  not  of  much  account.'  We  got  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  and  after  much  plotting  and  planning  succeed- 
ed in  getting  up  a  very  non-committal  note  ;  we  '  did 
not  know  how  soon  Mr.  Yane  would  be  on,'  were 
'  sorry  to  have  put  him  to  the  trouble  of  calling  twice 
in  vain,'  would  '  ask  him  to  call  that  evening,  but  were 
going    to  Wallack's ' — Lottie   and  her  brother  had 


A   STOEY   OF   OUR   CIVIL  WAE.  223 

already  engaged   me  to   go    there.      That   was   all, 
signed  with  my  initials. 

"In  the  middle  of  the  play  that  night  at  Wallack's, 
Lottie  pressed  my  arm ;  directly  opposite  us,  standing, 
was  a  man,  the  same,  Lottie  said,  as  he  who  had 
asked  for  me.  Oh !  but  he  was  handsome  !  I  would 
have  risked  a  great  deal  more  than  I  had  risked  to 
have 'such  a  man  in  love  with  me.  Such  fire,  reserved 
fire,  such  quiet  spirit,  such  force,  such  character  in 
every  look  and  gesture!  I  can't  help  liking  him  a 
little  bit  now,  as  I  think  of  it.  He  was  that  kind  of  a 
man  that  if  you  once  got  in  the  way  of  caring  for  him, 
you  could  not  get  out  of  it ;  he  would  always  sort  of 
hold  you,  even  after  you  had  stopped  loving  him.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  he  sent  a  most  beautifiil  bouquet  to 
me  before  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  theatre,  with  a  note 
thanking  me  for  mine,  telling  me  he  had  to  start  un- 
expectedly for  Philadelphia,  and  if  it  '  would  interest 
me  he  would  like  to  give  me  the  latest  news  from  that 
quiet  city.  I  deserve  some  compensation  for  my  repeat- 
ed disappointments,'  he  wrote.  This  was  just  what 
Lottie  and  I  most  wanted,  and  after  I  came  from  the 
theatre  I  answered  his  note,  and  gave  him  the  desired 
permission.  I  told  him  I  was  very  much  bored  in  Xew 
York,  that  I  had  read  all  the  books  I  could  lay  hands 
on,  and  written  up  ail  my  letters,  and  was  very  will- 
ing and  glad  to  be  amused.  The  first  answer  to  my 
letter  was  a  couple  volumes  of  poems  sent  from  Apple- 


224  AT  AXCHOK  : 

tons',  beautifully  bound ;  one  was  *  Idyls  of  the 
King''  which  had  just  come  out,  and  the  other  the 
most  complete  volume  of  Whittier  I  had  ever  seen. 
When  he  wrote  me  he  spoke  of  them :  '  He  hoped,'  he 
wrote,  *  I  had  not  already  read  the  Idyls  of  the  King^ 
for  they  would  furnish  me  with  dreaming  for  months 
to  come ;  and  as  for  TThittier — ^he  knew  I  would  find 
Ms  poems  always  fresh.'  Eyidently  he  knew  her  taste 
well" 

"  E^ddently,"  I  said,  seeing  I  was  exj)ected  to  say 
something. 

"  It  isn't  to  be  supposed,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I 
was  very  enthusiastic  about  that  Quaker  fanatic's 
poems,  but  his  sending  it  proved  to  me  conclusively 
that  he  thought  I  was  not  I." 

"  How  could  you  doubt  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know;  men  do  all  sorts  of  things  if  a 
pretty  face  strikes  their  fancy.  Well,  to  continue,  or 
my  story  will  never  be  finished.  He  wrote  me  often  ; 
I  wish  I  had  his  letters  here ;  I  am  sure  they  would 
interest  you ;  they  nearly  broke  my  heart  to  read  and 
think  they  were  not  for  me !  Such  witty  letters,  so 
entertaining,  so  sensible,  with  a  sort  of  tender  tone 
running  all  through  them  !  What  a  woman  she  must 
have  been  to  have  inspii'ed  such  a  man  with  such  a 
devotion  I " 

"  How  much  easier  than  one  less  a  man,"  I  said, 
*'  it  was  because  the  man  was  himself  so  grand  that  he 


A    STORY    OF    OtJK    CIVIL   WAR.  225 

loved  SO  grandly ;  ten  times  a  better  woman  could  not 
have  inspired  a  lesser  man  with  half  such  love.  But 
go  on." 

"In  one  of  his  letters  he  said:  '  Hoping  it  will  not 
be  long  before  I  shall  see  you  in  your  summer  home, 
I  cannot  wholly  regret  my  disappointment  in  New 
York,  since  it  was  the  cause  of  your  melting  in  so  far 
as  to  write  me.  That  little  card  you  sent  me  at  the 
Everett  House  was  the  very  first  scrap  of  your  writ- 
ing I  had  ever  seen.'  This  encouraged  me  very 
extensively,  you  may  believe,  and  after  that  I  wrote 
more  carefully.  I  was  always  proud  of  my  writing. 
I  was  very  careful  of  the  matter  of  my  letters  as  well, 
writing  nothing  of  mamma,  papa,  nor  any  people  I 
met,  but  of  books,  music,  amusements,  lectures  that  I 
read  or  heard,  and  considerably  of  my  own  feelings 
and  thoughts.     He  opened  his  very  soul  to  me." 

"  Oh,  how  could  you ! "  I  interrupted ;  "  it  was  a 
thousand  times  meaner  than  stealino^  or  listeninoj  be- 
hind  doors,  this  appropriating  thoughts  intended  for 
another,  this  reading  his  heart !  " 

"  You  were  not  to  blame  me,  Mrs.  Aberthnay ;  that 
was  in  the  bond.  If  you  begin  to  blame  me  there  ^vill 
be  no  end  to  your  indignation." 

"  Then  I  will  not,"  I  said ;  "  but  tell  me,  what  did 
you  expect  the  man  to  think  of  you  when  your — mis- 
take  was  to  come  to  light,  as  come,  of  course,  it  must  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Aberthnay,  you  must  be  very 
10* 


226  AT  anchoe: 

innocent !  As  if  there  were  not  fifty  ways  of  getting 
out  of  a  worse  scrape  than  that !  I  had  no  fear  but  I 
should  come  out  of  it  all  right  as  far  as  his  opinion 
went.  My  only  fear  was,  what  effect  I  should  have 
upon  his  affections,  for  I  loved  him  with  all  the  ro- 
mance of  a  first  love,  and  as  I  could  never  love  any 
man  whom  I  met  in  the  regular  proper  manner. 
Stolen  fruit  is  always  the  sweetest,  and  there  was 
never  sweeter  fruit  than  that  I  stole  that  winter.  You 
must  know,  during  the  time  I  was  writing,  papa  came 
on  and  had  business  in  Washington,  where  he  Jtvanted 
to  take  a  house,  but  mamma  would  not  listen  to  such 
a  thing ;  so  it  was  decided  we  should  remain  at  the 
hotel,  and  papa  come  on  when  he  could.  As  mamma 
generally  keeps  him  in  hot  water  when  they  are  to- 
gether, I  have  no  doubt  he  was  very  much  relieved 
by  the  decision,  except  for  me  ;  but  I  was  doing  very 
well.  Several  ladies  had  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  and 
took  me  around;  and  as  I  was  young,  wore  pretty 
dresses,  and  reported, — as  all  Southern  girls  in  the 
North  are  reported  to  be, — an  heiress,  I  had  beaux 
enough ;  and  with  jDretty  dresses  and  plenty  of  beaux 
a  girl  must  be  hard  to  please  who  cannot  contrive 
to  enjoy  herself.  Yery  often  Mr.  Stuart  used  to  write 
about  Mr.  Yane^  and  as  it  was  just  possible  Mr.  Vane 
might  not  be  Miss  Yane's  papa,  I  always  spoke  of  him 
as  ]Mr.  Yane ;  but  fearing  he  might  be  a  near  relative, 
I  put  the  Mr.  Yane  in  quotation  marks,  and  all  went 


A    STOKY    OF    OFR   CIVIL   AVAE.  227 

on  unsuspiciously,  and  we  Avere  desperately  in  love 
with  each  other,  when  I  received  a  hurried  note :  Mr. 
Stuart  would  be  at  the  hotel  the  next  morning.  What 
the  warrior  feels  when  he  hears  the  trumpet  blast,  and 
so  on,  felt  little  I,  as  the  terrible  crash  was  coming. 
By  this  time  my  impatience  had  grown  so  great  that 
I  had  become  almost  unable  to  wait,  for  I  felt  1 7nust 
have  him  securely  mine  beyond  a  doubt  or  fear,  and 
the  announcement  that  I  was  to  see  him  came  at  the 
right  moment. 

"  I  never  before  or  since  studied  my  toilet  more 
than  I  did  that  morning,  mamma  helping  me." 

"  That  reminds  me,  what  did  your  mamma  think  of 
all  this  proceeding  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mamma  !  As  if  I  should  tell  mamma  !  Mamma 
would  have  a  fit  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  my  writing  to 
a  man.     I  never  even  told  Lottie  Ellis  half  about  it." 

"  But  how  contrive  to  have  your  mother's  assist- 
ance ?  " 

"  Get  mamma  on  dress  and  every  faculty  is  absorb- 
ed;, she  would  walk  quite  unconsciously  over  burning 
plough-shares,  if  interested  in  that  matter.  I  told  her 
I  had  a  fancy  for  looking  pretty  that  day,  and  she 
made  me  j)retty.  As  Cherubina  would  say,  J  never 
looked  so  lovely^  yet  my  dress  was  apparently  simple 
enough :  a  gray  cashmere  morning  dress,  quilted  with 
blue,  slippers,  ribbons,  embroidery,  all  perfectly  ex- 
quisite.    I  was  hardly  dressed  mamma,  of  course,  re- 


228  AT  axchoe: 

tiring  with  a  sick  headache  to  her  room,  after  the  ex- 
ertion, than  his  card  was  brought  me.  I  had  deter- 
mined on  nothing ;  I  only  trusted  to  myself,  and  felt 
sure  of  myself  that  whatever  I  did  it  would  be  the 
best.  I  wonder  if  my  heart  will  ever  beat  again  as  it 
did  that  morning  on  the  way  to  the  parlor;  again 
quoting  Cherubina :  my  excitement  only  enhanced  my 
loveliness.     Shall  I  tell  the  rest  in  detail  ?  " 

"  Do  not  lose  a  word  ;  I  am  intensely  interested." 

"  Thank  you ;  you  are  real  good.  "Well,  I  went  to 
the  parlor,  in  which  the  servant  told  me  he  was ;  he 
stood  at  the  door,  more  royal,  more  handsome,  than 
the  time  I  saw  him  before.  He  started  as  he  saw  me, — 
I  know  I  looked  well  that  day, — and  stood  back  for  me 
to  pass.  I  gave  him  one  clear,  full  glance,  half  search- 
ing,— for  you  know  I  w§ls  looking  for  my  visitor, — as 
I  went  by  him,  and  it  did  affect  him." 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  I  said ;  "  I  have  seen  the  effect 
of  smaller  glances  on  Dr.  Carr.     Go  on." 

"  Then  I  went  into  the  parlor  and  looked  around, 
and  saw  in  the  glass  that  his  impatience  for  Mademoi- 
selle's appearance  did  not  prevent  his  turning  around 
to  look  at  me.  Ah  !  how  many  pillars  of  salt  there 
would  be,  if  all  the  world  were  punished  like  Lot's 
wife!" 

"  They  turn  inwardly  to  sticks  and  stones,  which 
is  worse,"  I  said.     "  Don't  morahze ;  go  on." 

"  I  went  into  the  other  parlors  and  came  back  and 


A   STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   AVAR.  229 

looked  at  him,  and  half  advanced ;  he  looked  at  me, 
and  there  Avas  some  show  of  mtelligence  in  his  face. 
At  last  I  spoke  timidly :  '  I  beg  your  pardon ;  is  this, 
— I  am  sure  it  is  not, — Mr.  Stuart  ? ' 

" '  That  is  my  name,'  he  said. 

" '  Mr.  Gilbert  Stuart  ?'  I  asked ;  '  and  you  have  just 
asked  for  Miss  Yane  ? ' 

'"Yes  ! '  he  said,  starting  into  animation ;  '  yes  !  Is 
she  not  here  ? ' 

"  '  This  is  a  funny  meeting,'  I  said,  very  cordially, 
laughing  and  holding  out  my  hand,  '  for  two  people 
who  have  been  spoiling  reams  of  paper  for  each  other's 
benefit !  I  hardly  suppose  I  ought  to  be  surprised 
that  you  should  not  recognize  me,  for  four  years  make 
a  great  difierence  at  my  age  ;  but  what  have  you  done 
to  yourself?  You  do  not  look  the  least  in  the  world 
like  yourself.  Come  to  mamma's  parlor.'  Without 
giving  him  time  to  answer,  I  turned  into  the  hall,  and 
rattled  all  the  way.  '  I  cannot  tell  you, — of  course  a 
lady  is  not  expected  to, — the  pleasure  I  have  had  from 
your  letters.  I  did  not  know  you  would  take  so  much 
trouble  for  poor  little  me,  whom  you  used  to  tease  so 
dreadfully.  Mamma  will  be  so  surprised  to  see  you  ! 
she  has  a  sick  headache,  however,  as  usual,  and  will 
not  be  able  to  see  you ;  but  I  shall  tell  her  all  about 
it.'  Other  things  I  said  more  tenderer^  as  the  children 
say,  and  used  my  eyes  with  all  my  might.  It  was  not 
hard  to  look  delighted  afiection  and  childish  happiness 
up  to  such  a  face  as  his. 


230  AT   ANCHOR  : 

"  I  did  not  give  him  opportunity  for  a  word  until 
we  were  fairly  in  mamma's  parlor,  and  then  his  turn 
came. 

"  '  I  do  not  know  what  to  say,'  he  began  confu- 
sedly, '  I  must  shock  and  pain  you.  I  am  perfectly 
bewildered  myself,  for  I  am  fairly  in  your  parlor  with- 
out having  found  voice  to  say  you  have  made  a  mis- 
take. I  am  Mr.  Stuart,  it  is  true,  and  you  are  ]Miss 
Vane,  I  suppose.' 

" '  Undoubtedly,'  I  said,  Avith  wondering  eyes. 

"'The  Miss  Yane  I  asked  for  is  another  IMiss 
Yane.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  ? '  I  said,  '  are  you  not  Gil- 
bert Stuart,  who  has  been  writing  me  from  Philadel- 
phia, and  sent  me  word  he  would  be  here  to-day  ?' 

" '  I  am  that  Gilbert  Stuart,  but  you — ' 

"  '  Do  you  really  think  I  am  so  altered  ? '  I  said, 
laughing  heartily.  '  Shall  I  have  to  wake  up  mamma 
to  prove  my  identity  ?  Mamma  hasn't  changed  ;  she 
looks  as  she  has  done  for  ten  years  j^ast,  and  as  she 
^^ill  for  ten  years  to  come  ;  and  I,  little  Gertie,  about 
up  to  your  knees  the  last  time  you  saw  me,  am  her 
perfect  image,  people  say  ! ' 

"  '  My  name  is  Gilbert  Stuart.  I  have  written  to 
a  Miss  Yane  all  winter,  and  sent  her  word  that  I 
should  meet  her  here ;  she  may  be  in  the  parlor  this 
very  moment :  it  is  a  singular  coincidence  that  you, 
too,  should  have  had  a  Philadelphia  correspondent  of 
the  same  name.' 


A    STOEY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAE.  231 

"  For  answer,  I  took  from  my  writing-desk  a  pack- 
age of  letters. 

"  'It  is  a  funny  mistake,'  I  said,  '  and  a  curious 
coincidence.  My  Mr.  Stuart  wrote  me,' — I  took  out 
his  last  note, — *  to  expect  him  this  morning ;  yoi^r  Miss 
Yane  may,  as  you  say,  be  waiting  in  the  parlor  for 
you.  My  Mr.  Stuart  will,  without  doubt,  soon  be 
there.  I  am  sorry  to  have  detained  you.  It  is  quite 
a  Comedy  of  Errors.  I  must  say,  to  explain  it  as  far 
as  I  can,  that  the  other  Mr.  Stuart  is  a  very  intimate 
family  friend,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  so  many  years 
that  I  should  not  be  certain  of  recognizing  him ;  and 
although  my  remembrances  of  him  are  indistinct,  they 
do  not  point  out  a  man  like  you,  but  I  allowed  for 
time  and  the  addition  of  whiskers ! ' 

" '  ]S"aturally,'  he  answered,  '  but  nothing  could 
prevent  me  from  seeing  that  you  and  ]Miss  Georgie 
Vane  could  never  be  the  same.' 

"  He  bowed  and  was  leaving  the  room,  when,  as 
letters  will,  my  package  broke  the  elastic  that  bound 
them,  and  two  or  three  fell  to  the  ground  !  he  picked 
them  up,  and  oh !  but  he  grew  pale  ! 

" '  Another  coincidence  ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  I  could 
swear  to  that's  being  my  writing,'  and  he  pointed  to 
the  address.  I  looked  frightened,  but  answered  light- 
ly, '  I  wonder  if  your  style  is  the  same  also.'  I  opened 
a  letter  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  '  I  wrote  that  letter,'  he  said, '  and  this — and  this,' 
as  I  showed  him  others. 


232  AT  axchoe: 

"  We  were  both  pretty  quiet  for  a  while.  At  last 
he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  gives  up — 

"'All  these  letters  were  clearly  written  by  the 
same  person,  and  that  person  me.  It  all  comes  of  my 
supposition  that  there  could  be  but  one  Miss  Vane  in 
the  world.  It  all  comes  from  that !  I  have  often 
thought  the  style  of  their  answers  was  not  like  her 
character;  but  I  supposed  it  to  be  because  people 
often  write  so  differently  from  the  way  they  talk. 
They  were  beautiful  letters,  it  is  true.  I  seem  selfish — 
this  is  a  great  disappointment  to  me.' 

"  We  had  been  sitting  while  examining  the  letters. 
He  rose  now,  wearily  enough ;  I  folded  and  dropped  my 
hands.  I  did  not  need  to  act  much  for  my  heart  was 
really  almost  breaking.  He  saw  the  dejection  of  my 
attitude,  and  was  moved  with  pity. 

"  '  This  annoys  you,'  he  began. 

"  '  Annoys  me  ! '  I  repeated,  '  it  kills  me.' 

"  He  came  nearer  to  me,  '  I  will  myself  bring  you 
every  line  you  have  ever  written  me,  if  you  will  allow 
me,'  he  said ;  '  it  ought  not  to  be  necessary  for  me  to 
say  I  win  never  speak  of  this  mistake, — this  cruel 
mistake, — ^to  any  one.  I  can  never  think  of  those  beauti- 
ful letters,  nor  of  this  morning's  meeting,  but  with  the 
warmest  admiration  for  their  writer,  and  with  the 
bitterest  regret  that,  young  as  you  are,  you  could  not 
have  been  spared  this  mortification.' 

" '  You  are  kind,'  I  answered ;  '  I  do  not  think  of 


A   STOET    OF    OUR   CIYIL    VTAR.  233 

the  mortification.  I  found  a  ma?i,  and  have  lived 
months  in  the  belief  that — that  there  was  something 
in  life  worth  living  for  ;  it  is  hard  that,  young  as  I  am, 
that  belief  should  be  taken  from  me.' 

"  '  Your  friend  Mr.  Stuart—' 

"  '  I  never  cared  for  him ;  never  even  liked  him, 
until  his  letters  won  my  whole  heart.  I  often  wonder- 
ed how  it  could  have  been  in  him  to  write  such  letters ; 
I  might  have  known  it  was  not.' 

"  '  May  be  it  is.' 

" '  I  know  it  is  not.  Good-bye,  dear  letters  !  Ah, 
Mr.  Stuart,  if  you  could  have  left  me  in  my  mistake  ! 
These  were  so  much  my  own,  I.  thought,  these  letters, 
and  all  the  time  they  were  not  mine;  I  had  no  share 
in  them — ' 

" '  Do  not  say  so,'  he  answered.  '  Your  letters 
have  acted  like  inspiration  to  me.' 

"  '  You  are  kind,'  I  said  ;  '  but  nothing  makes  any 
difference  now.' 

" '  "VYe  have  learned  too  much  of  each  other,'  he 
finally  remarked,  '  for  us  ever  to  feel  that  we  are 
strangers  to  each  other.  Ton  have  spoken  so  kindly 
of  my  letters  that  I  venture  to  hope  I  may  come  some- 
times to  see  you.' 

"'I  should  be  obliged  to  explain  to  mamma,'  I 
answered,  *  and  she  would  be  very  angry.  I  do  feel 
that  I  know  you  better  than  those  who  have  free 
admittance  here ;  but  on  mamma's  account  I  would 


234  AT  axchoe: 

rather  you  came  introduced.  Very  likely  we  have 
mutual  acquaintances  here,  and  if  you  care  for  it,  I 
shall  be  glad.' 

"We  talked  over  everybody  we  knew  without 
any  satisfactory  result,  until  the  idea  struck  me  of 
looking  over  a  card-basket.  '  Here  is  an  invitation  to 
Mrs.  Carter's  for  Friday,'  I  said,  '  I  wish  you  knew 
Mrs.  Carter.' 

"  '  I  know  Mrs.  Carter's  son,'  he  answered,  *  and  I 
feel  pretty  certain  I  see  my  way  clear  to  a  proper 
introduction.     I  wish  other  things  were  as  clear.' 

"  I  do  not  remember  very  much  of  what  followed. 
I  said  something  about  returning  the  books  he  had 
sent  me,  but  he  begged  me  to  keep  them,  and  I 
did. 

"  I  met  him  several  times  before  the  Friday  of 
JVIrs.  Carter's  reception  came  around,  but  we  passed 
each  other  without  recognition;  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  blush  every  time,  and  he  was  not  perfectly 
self-composed.  One  day  it  was  in  a  gallery  of  paint- 
ings; there  was  never  a  collection  of  j)aintings  without 
containing  at  least  one  of  A  Young  GirVs  First  JLove- 
letter.  There  was  one  in  this  gallery,  and  a  pretty 
picture  it  was.  Mr.  Stuart  j^assed  me  while  I  was  look- 
ing at  it.  I  had  the  grace  to  color  as  I  said,  in  so  low 
a  voice  that  I  hardly  knew  if  he  understood  me : 
'There  ought  to  be  a  companion  picture  called  The 
Mistake.'^     I   did  not  look  to  see  the  effect  of  this 


A   STORY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  235 

speech,  but  humed  away,  and  waited  and  hoped  for 
Friday,  w4th  what  patience  I  might. 

"  Friday  night  came,  and  again  with  all  my  art,  and 
all  my  mother's  skill,  I  arrayed  myself.  It  was  at  the 
time  when  we  wore  the  most  extensive  crinoline,  and 
the  most  abundant  trimming,  until  women  looked  like 
dolls  with  their  entire  wardrobe  on  their  backs.  I 
had  a  silvery  kind  of  dress,  with  tiny  bouquets  over 
it,  a  train,  and  a  profusion  of  natural  flowers.  I  did 
not  go  until  very  late ;  but,  late  as  it  was,  I  was  there 
before  Mr.  Stuart.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  wide  and 
empty  that  room  looked  to  me,  for  my  heart  was  wild 
with  hope  and  fear,  and  love  and  terror,  that  night. 
At  last  he  came,  and  leaning  on  his  arm  was  a  woman, 
dazzlingly  lovely,  a  novelist  would  say,  mighty  pretty, 
I  must  own.  I  raged  inwardly,  for  it  was  easy 
enough  to  guess  she  was  the  other  j\Iiss  Yane.  I  had 
hosts  of  beaux  that  night ;  I  had  saved  several  dances 
for  him  if  he  should  ask,  and  I  did  my  best  to  be 
admired  that  night.  The  time  did  come,  although  it 
had  seemed  as  if  it  never  would,  Avhen  Mrs.  Carter 
came  sailing  toward  me,  and  with  her  Mr.  Stuart, 
whom  in  due  and  proper  form  she  presented  to  me. 
It  would  be  some  little  time  before  I  could  dance  with 
him,  but  he  waited,  and  entertained  himself  in  the 
mean  time  with  the  lady  he  had  brought,  or  who,  per- 
haps, had  brought  him.  It  was  not  Miss  Yane,  he 
told  me,  but  a  Mrs.  Somebody  who  had  taken  him 


236  AT  axchor: 

as  escort,  and  thereby  gained  him  an  introduction  to 
Mrs.  Carter. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  that  evening  went,  nor  the 
next,  which  we  spent  at  a  private  exhibition  of  paint- 
ings, to  which  the  Mrs.  Somebody  insisted  upon  taking 
him,  and  Mrs.  Carter  me. 

"  He  made  me  several  morning  calls,  and  was 
introduced  to  mamma. 

"  One  day  he  came  with  my  letters,  which  had 
never  got  returned,  and  also  with  his  adieux ;  he  was 
going  home  to  Massachusetts  that  day. 

"  I  said  something  about  Miss  Vane,  which  called 
forth  this  reply :  '  You  are  very  much  mistaken  in  re- 
gard to  my  relations  to  !Miss  Yane.  She  is  beautiful 
and  winning ;  but  her  life  is  so  joyous,  her  position  so 
fiill  of  sunshine,  that  a  man  would  commit  a  sacrilege 
almost  who  could  woo  her  from  such  a  home,  and  I 
have  never  spoken  one  word  of  more  than  ordinary 
friendship  to  her.' 

" '  There  was  more  than  ordinary  friendship  in  those 
letters,'  I  answered,  '  or  so  it  seemed  to  me  when  I 

thought  that  I '      Have  you  ever  thought,  Mrs. 

Aberthnay,  how  much  more  that  means  which  you 
leave  unsaid  than  any  thing  you  could  say  ? 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  long  we  talked,  nor  at  what 
particular  point  I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and 
let  him  guess  that  I  cared  for  him.  Xothing  that  he 
could  say  consoled  me,  and  it  was  hard  for  him  to 


^ 


A   STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL    WAR.  237 

leave  me,  feeling  as  I  did.  He  talked  a  long  time, 
kindlv,  tenderly,  as  a  brother  might  have  done,  only  a 
brother  would  have  growled  and  called  you  a  goose, 
— and  finally  rising,  took  my  hand  to  say  good-bye. 
It  is  very  shocking ;  but  I'm  obliged  to  confess  he  took 
my  hand,  but  deferred  the  good-bye ;  and  before  he 
got  to  the  good-bye,  I  had  dried  my  tears,  and  with 
his  arms  around  me  saw  his  grand  eyes  looking  down 
lovingly  into  mine.  Even  then  I  knew  it  was  more  a 
pitying  tenderness  than  the  devoted  love  he  would 
have  given  the  other  that  was  mine ;  but  I  took  gladly 
what  I  could  get,  and  hoped  for  more. 

"  Mamma  was  quite  satisfied,  and  planned  half  my 
trousseau,  while  he  was  telling  her  all  that  he  would 
try  to  do  for  me.  He  wrote  to  papa,  and  papa  pro- 
fessed himself  satisfied  if  mamma  and  I  were,  and  all 
went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

"  This  other  Miss  Yane,"  I  said,  "  did  she  care 
much  for  him,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,  but  I  was  frantically 
jealous  of  her.  Well,  Ave  were  engaged,  and  this  is 
the  diamond  that  sealed  the  engagement.  You  may 
think  I  was  happy,  for.  I  loved  him  almost  to  madness, 
but  I  was  not ;  I  did  not  fill  his  heart,  and,  that  I  did 
not,  hurt  and  irritated  me.  After  a  time  he  went  on 
home,  and  we  corresponded  again.  Y^hether  he  flirted 
with  Miss  Yane,  the  historian  relateth  not ;  but  it  is  very 
certain  that  I  flirted  wildly,  any  thing  to  feel  I  could 


238  AT   ANCHOR. 

inspire  some  affection.  I  ran  a  wild  course,  and  many- 
is  the  man  for  whom  I  cared  not  the  snap  of  my  fin- 
gers, who  believes  to  this  day  that  my  childish  fancy 
had  been  beguiled  into  an  engagement  irksome  to  me, 
and  that  my  heart  was  his,  as  my  hand  would  have 
been,  could  I  have  freed  myself  from  my  bond. 

"  One  of  these  men  was  Mr.  Carter,  with  whom  I 
one  night  went  to  a  children's  party,  and  came  home 
about  half-past  niue.  And  when  I  came  home  there 
met  me  Gilbert ;  but  Gilbert  pale,  thin,  and  stern.  I 
suppose  he  was  jealous ;  for,  after  some  conversation, 
rather  restrained  on  both  sides,  he  said :  '  Gertnide, 
do  you  think  we  love  each  other  very  much?' 

" '  I  don't  know  about  you,'  I  said  ;  '  I  love  every- 
body,— some  more  than  others,  though.' 

"  'And  this  Mr.  Carter, — may  I  ask  his  degree  ? ' 

"  '  I  love  Mr.  Carter  about  as  much,  we  will  say,  as 
you  love  Miss  Georgie  Vane.'  I  like  a  man  to  get 
jealous ;  you  can  manage  him  as  easy  as  breathing, 
then. 

"  '  And  if  I  should  love  Miss  Geororie  Vane  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul,  in  life  and  in  death,  her  and  her 
only,  what  would  you  say  ? '  he  exclaimed. 

"'That  you  were  a  coward  and  a  traitor,'  I  re- 
plied promptly ;  '  a  man  whom  both  ought  to  scorn, 
for  you  have  not  courage  to  be  true  to  either.' 

" '  It  is  true,'  he  said. 

'"It  was  my  misfortune,'  I  continued,  '  to  love  you 


A    STOEY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   AVAR.  239 

before  I  knew  you ;  and  when  I  knew  you,  you  at- 
tempted to  be  generous ;  you  ofiered  me  your  heart 
and  hand, — I  gave  you  mine,  freely  ;  you  chose  me,  at 
least  asJced  me,  to  be  your  wife ;  and  you  dare  come  to 
me,  your  affianced  bride — to  me  with  your  ring  on  my 
finger,  your  vows  in  my  ears — and  talk  of  love  for  some 
one  else !  How  proud  would  she  be  of  such  a  love  ! 
How  strong  it  must  be,  since  it  triumphs  over  your 
duty,  your  honor,  your  grand  self-sacrifice,  and  oh !  so 
constant ! ' 

"  '  Do  not  you  taunt  me ! '  he  said.  '  She  has  the 
right  to  scorn  me,  and  she  is  gentleness  and  kindness 
itself.' 

"  '  Xo  doubt ! '  I  cried ;  '  you  are  to  be  treated  with 
much  gentleness  ;  you  ought  to  be  tenderly  cared  for, 
and  greatly  pitied,  that  you  should  be  bound  to  one  so 
unworthy  as  me.' 

"  '  Oh,  Gertie,  spare  me  ! '  he  said.  *  I  know  you  are 
a  thousand  times  too  lovely  and  too  good  for  me. 
Pity  me  to-night,  for  my  heart  is  breaking.  I  have 
had  that  to  bear  lately  which  I  could.just  bear,  and  no 
more.' 

"  *  What  is  it  you  wish  of  me  ? '  I  asked.  '  To  iree 
you  ?  To  give  you  liberty  to  marry  the  other  Miss 
Vane?' 

" '  It  is  not  possible,'  he  answered  ;  '  but  it  is  pos- 
sible that  you  and  I,  who  are  to  hold  the  dearest  rela- 
tions of  earth  to  each  other,  should  try  to  see  each 


240  AT  anchor: 

other  at  the  best,  and  to  be  kind  and  forbearing  to 
each  other.  I  know  you  have  too  much  reason  to 
doubt  me ;  but  I  hope  to  show  you  yet  that  I  can  be 
strong  and  firm.' 

"  A  great  deal  more  he  said  ;  I  cried,  and  he  who 
came,  I  am  convinced,  to  make  one  desperate  effort  for 
his  freedom,  Avent  away  more  firmly  bound  than  ever." 

"  How  could  you  take  love  merely  as  duty,  or  con- 
sent to  be  second  where  you  should  be  first?"  I 
asked. 

"  Because,"  said  Gertrude,  "  I  loved  him,  as  I  have 
told  you,  almost  to  madness,  and  I  always  thought  he 
Avould  end  by  loving  me  as  I  wished.  Then,  again,  I 
hated  Miss  Georgie  Yane,  and  was  determined  to  hold 
Mm  until,  come  what  would,  she  should  not  have  him; 
again,  if  there's  any  jilting  to  be  done,  it  is  the  lady's 
priAolege  to  make  the  first  move ;  and  although  I  should 
not  have  married  him  on  his  half-love,  I  liked  his  at- 
tentions, and  I  was  resolved  some  day  he  should  love 
me,  and  suffer  for  me. 

"  In  due  course  of  time  Miss  Georgie  Yane  took  unto 
herself  a  husband,  Gilbert  himself  told  me ;  and  not 
long  after  that  event  my  father  and  Gilbert  had  a 
quarrel  on  politics,  which  famished  me  with  another 
excuse  for  delaying  our  marriage,  which  I  meant 
should  be  delayed  until  he  fully  loved  me.  Then 
came  the  war." 

"  Does  he  love  you  satisfactorily  now  ?"  I  asked. 


A  STOET    OF   OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  241 

"I  neither  kuow  nor  care.  I  would  not  marry 
him  now  for  all  the  world. 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  is  a  Yankee ;  you  don't  suppose  I  would 
marry  a  Yankee,  do  you?" 

"  You  would  if  you  loved  him." 

"  If  I  married  all  the  men  I  have  been  in  love  with 
I  should  have  a  pretty  string  of  wedding-rings.  I 
never  saw  that  man  yet  that  I  was  fully  willing  to 
marry, — if  I  could  get  any  one  else.  I  don't  want  to 
be  an  old  maid ;  nobody  does.  I  like  them  all  for  a 
while ;  but  it  is  a  little  while.  The  man  that  finally 
gets  me  must  court  and  marry  me  in  a  short  space  of 
time." 

"  I  will  tell  your  next  admirer  of  that  little  eccen- 
tricity of  yours.  What  did  this  Mr.  Stuart  say  when 
you  announced  your  final  intention  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  announced  it.  He  will  find  it  out 
sooner  or  later.  I  scorn  any  communication  with  a 
vile  Yankee ! " 

"  Even  so  much  as  to  return  a  Yankee's  diamonds  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  ar^  right.  If  I  know  any  one  go- 
insj  iSTorth  I  will  send  him  back  his  thino^s.  He  can 
give  this  ring  to  Miss  Yane." 

"  Tell  him  you  send  it  to  her." 

"  She  is  married." 

"  NHmporte.     It  will  be  optional  with  him.*" 

"Twill,"  she  said;  and  so  ended  Gertrude's  story. 
11 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"Not  two  weeks  after,  Gertrude  had  another  story 
to  tell.  Dr.  Carr's  assiduous  attentions  had  not  been 
without  their  natural  effect  upon  that  young  lady's 
impressible  heart.  She  loved  him,  she  said,  as  woman 
never  loved  before ;  and  more  to  the  same  effect. 

"Before  there  was  war,"  Gertrude  informed  me, 
"  I  always  declared  I  would  marry  a  doctor,  for  his  is 
the  noblest  of  professions.  A  man  cannot  be  a  good 
doctor  without  he  loves  his  profession,  and  he  cannot 
love  his  profession  without  loving  and  honoring  hu- 
man nature — " 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  I  interrupted ;  "  ]\Iiss  Gertie  Yane 
on  doctors." 

"'  It  is  true,"  she  returned  ;  "  I  said  so  before  I  ever 
knew  Dr.  Carr.  A  good  doctor  is  always  a  good  hus- 
band; he  appreciates  us  women,  and  our  patience, 
energy,  and  resignation.  That  was  before  the  war ; 
since  the  war,  it  is,  of  course,  every  gu-l's  ambition  to 
marry  a  soldier.  How  mean  will  look  the  house, 
twenty  years  from  now,  in  which  there  is  neither  flag, 


A    STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  243 

sword,  nor  musket !  Few  are  so  happy  as  I  that  I  can 
unite  my  two  ambitions,  and  marry  a  soldier  doctor. 
But,  Mrs.  Aberthnay,  dear  Mrs.  Aberthnay,  what  have 
I  said?" 

For  my  face  was  burning,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  Carl's  death  tears  came  to  my  eyes.  Oh  !  Ten- 
nyson knew  well  the  true  life  of  this  world  when  he 
summed  up  its  miseries  in  that  one  sentence : 

"  Lost  to  use,  and  name,  and  fame." 

Carl  would  not  yet  have  been  thirty  years  old 
and  I  was  nearly  five  years  younger,  and  what  was 
there  left  of  or  for  either  of  us  ?  His  enemies  held 
his  sword,  and  he  could  never  fight  it  back.  On  the 
walls  of  my  house,  twenty  years  from  now,  there 
would  be  neither  flag,  sword,  nor  musket.  The  right- 
ful doom  of  a  traitor,  you  say.  Oh !  I  implore  you 
not;  I  go  on  my  knees  to  you, —  say  not  that  black 
word  over  my  noble  husband.  Were  he  even  that,  you 
could  wish  him  no  worse  doom  than  was  ah-eady  his — 
"  lost  to  use,  and  name,  and  fame."  Put  the  harshest 
judgment  on  my  actions,  and  give  them  their  sternest 
sentence,  and  it  would  be  a  sentence  no  harder  than 
that  I  was  already  bearing.  All  the  labor  without  the 
fruit,  all  the  battle  without  the  victory,  all  the  sufier- 
ing  without  the  crown  !  "  How  mean,"  said  Gertrude, 
"  will  look  the  house  twenty  years  fi-om  now,  in  which 
there  is  neither  flag,  nor  sword,  nor  musket."     And 


244  AT  anchor: 

that  was  to  be  the  end  of  our  house,  his  house  and 
mine, — two  noble  names  bound  together, — and  only- 
shame  their  fruit,  two  weary,  sufiering  lives,  and  their 
misery  barren ! 

Would  it  .have  been  better  had  he  lived  ?  I  say 
yes.  Yes,  I  would  rather  point  out  to  another  genera- 
tion the  flag,  battle  stained  and  conquered,  that 
borne  by  a  heart  that,  though  erring,  thought  itself 
right,  had  faced  death  though  in  a  wrong  cause,  than 
the  rarest  frescoed  walls  free  of  any  battle  sign  or 
trophy.  For  him  who  can  live  in  the  midst  of  heroic 
deeds,  and  not  even  think  a  courageous  thought ;  for 
him  who  can  live  surrounded  by  brave  lives,  and  have 
no  desire  to  emulate  them ;  for  him  without  the  patriot- 
ism, the  honor,  or  the  manliness  to  decide  and  decid- 
ing to  act,  there  is  a  contempt  such  as  no  mortal  can 
ever  feel  for  a  brave  man,  though  brave  for  the  wrong 
side. 

I  did  not  tell  Gertrude  why  I  bent  my  head,  and, 
startled  by  the  suddenness  of  her  remark,  gave  way 
to  my  sad  thoughts,  my  life  long  desolation.  . 

When  I  again  saw  Dr.  Carr  I  gave  him  a  hint  of 
Gertrude's  little  eccentricity ;  he  took  it  very  well, 
*'  Gertrude  is  a  good  girl,"  he  said,  "  but  as  fickle  as  a 
May  morning ;  but  a  firm  hand  and  a  kind  rule  will 
make  all  things  right.  I  have  seen  just  such  girls, 
after  breaking  hearts  by  the  score,  settle  down  into 
the  very  cosiest  and  nicest  of  wives.     Besides,  Gertie  is 


A   STOEY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  245 

BO  handsome,  a  man  would  risk  considerable  for 
her." 

"  She  is  very  lovely,"  I  answered,  "  and  most 
affectionate." 

"  I  have  set  you  an  excellent  example,"  Dr.  Carr 
said,  "  and  been  most  obedient  to  all  your  hints  and 
instructions.  May  I  presume  to  interfere  a  little  in 
your  affairs  ?  You  are  reputed  a  most  loyal  woman, 
and  considered  a  model  of  patriotism;  no  one  knowing 
your  character  at  all  could,  for  a  moment,  doubt  that 
you  would  be  both  loyal  and  devoted  to  any  govern- 
ment were  it  that  of  Tippoo  Sahib,  or  any  other  savage 
or  tyrant  known  to  the  world.  I  do  not  think  you 
change  your  convictions  easily,  I  even  think  the  force 
of  habit  is  stronger  with  you  than  with  almost  any 
one  I  have  ever  met.  Once  your  thoughts  get  in  a 
groove  they  will  not  be  easily  moved ;  that  switch  is 
not  invented  that  will  run  you  off  the  track.  With 
this  view  of  your  character  it  is  not  strange,  is  it  ? 
that  I  should  sometimes  think  your  loyalty  and  your 
patriotism  are  just  where  they  were  when  you  lived 
in  the  shadow  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  Yankee  Cradle 
of  Liberty,  Somebody's  Hall." 

"WeU?"Isaid. 

"  If  it  were  not  so,  it  must,  for  iftany  other  reasons, 
be  lonely  for  you  here  in  a  country  where  you  are 
almost  a  stranger,  and  entirely  without  relatives.  My 
little  Gertie  and  I  have  talked  it  over  often,  and  since 


246  AT  ANCHOR  : 

Col.  Vane's  promotion,  we  think  it  would  be  quite 
easy  for  you  to  go  back  to  the  Xorth,  if  you  should 
desire  it." 

"  Dr.  Carr,"  I  answered,  "  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul  and  mind  and  strength,  I  love,  honor,  and  believe 
in  the  United  States,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  my 
soul  I  yearn  to  be  there,  but  I  doubt  my  right.  I  can 
do  good  here ;  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  there.  I  do  not 
deserve  that  I  should  be  given  that  dearest  wish  of 
my  heart.  I  refused  the  protection  of  the  IN'orth  when 
it  was  fi-eely  offered  to  me  ;  have  I  a  right  to  take  it 
now?" 

"  If  you  talk  of  right  and  duty,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  why,  I  am  vanquished  at  once.  I  have  here  a 
safe  pass  to  Gen.  Yane's  headquarters ;  you  may  take 
it  and  use  it  if  you  will ;  if  not,  I  will  repeat  the  words 
you  have  just  spoken.  Gertie  will  swear  to  any  thing 
I  tell  her,  and  you  will  be  tried,  convicted,  and  pun- 
ished as  a  traitor.     You  may  choose." 

"  You  are  peremptory  ;  a  woman  scorns  to  oppose 
force.     I  will  go." 

I  had  a  call  from  Mrs.  Yane,  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  met  that  interesting  lady. 

She  was  in  a  state  of  perpetual  flutter :  "  You  have 
taken  so  much  intWest  in  Gertrude,"  she  said,  "  and 
have  been  so  very  kind  to  her,  that  I  quite  feel  as  if 
you  belonged  to  the  family,  and  as  if  I  could  speak 
freely  before   you.     I   am   quite  opposed  to  Gertie's 


A    STOKY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAK.  247 

marrying  the  doctor.  We  have  suffered  a  great  deal 
from  the  war.  All  Mr.  Yane's  property  is  at  the  Korth, 
and  would  scarcely  be  available  even  if  there  were  no 
war,  for  there  was  a  disagreement  between  Mr.  Vane 
and  his  relatives.  Indeed  I  might  as  well  be  frank 
with  you.  Mr.  Vane  was  a  widower  when  I  married 
him.  His  former  wife  must  have  been  a  very  peculiar 
woman  ;  at  any  rate,  she  was  the  cause  of  unpleasant 
feeling  between  Mr.  Vane  and  his  brother,  and  they 
have  never  been  on  good  terms  since,  and  none  of  his 
relatives  will  ever  do  any  thing  for  Gertie,  I  feel  con- 
vinced. Before  the  war  Gertie  was  engaged  to  a  very 
exemplary  young  man  by  the  name  of  Stuart ;  he  was 
very  fond  of  her,  and  I  am  quite  con\dnced  will  wait 
for  her,  and  claim  her  when  the  war  is  over.  I  do 
entreat  you  to  use  your  influence  with  Gertie, — she  will 
do  any  thing  for  you, — to  induce  her  to  postpone  her 
marriage,  if  she  will  not  break  it  off  altogether ;  the 
doctor  has  nothing  to  live  on,  nor  Gertie  either,  and 
every  thing  is  so  dear.  I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever 
get  her  a  proper  trousseau.  It  will  take  nearly  a  year's 
pay  to  marry  her  as  a  daughter  of  mine  should  be 
married.  It  is  no  use  for  me  to  say  this  to  Gertie,  she 
is  so  headstrong ;  she  thinks  she  knows  more  than  any 
one  else.  Mr.  Stuart  was  rich,  and,  I  suj^pose,  still  is 
wealthy,  and  is  in  every  respect  a  better  match  for  her." 
"  But  Gertie  is  so  very  Southern,  I  do  not  think 
she  would  be  willing  to  marry  a  Union  man." 


248 


AT  axchor: 


"Fiddle-de-dee!  Gertie  talks  very  large  but  slie 
does  not  care  the  worth  of  a  pin.  Her  father  means 
she  shall  go  N^orth  very  soon  ;  she  will  probably  meet 
ISlr.  Stuart  again,  and  every  thing  be  settled.  He 
always  liked  Gertie  more  than  she  thought,  but  she 
plagued  him  terribly ;  they  will  both  love  each  other 
better  for  the  long  separation." 

"And  Dr.  Carr?" 

"  It  is  very  easy  for  a  woman  of  the  world  to  see 
Dr.  Carr  is  only  attracted  by  Gertie's  pretty  face,  and 
in  six  months  they  will  be  as  indifferent  to  each  other 
as  if  they  had  never  met.  I  am  so  used  to  Gertie's 
ways.  The  only  man  who  could  ever  make  any  thing 
of  her  is  Mr.  Stuart,  and  I  am  persuaded  that  if  they 
could  meet  again  they  would  become  very  much 
attached  to  each  other.  Do  persuade  Gertie  to  wait 
a  little.     Oh !  if  she  would  only  go  i^orth  with  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Yane  little  knew  what  she  asked  of  me  !  Just 
as  every  thing  seemed  clear  between  Gilbert  and  my- 
self, there  came  this  new  complication. 

"I  will  certainly  speak  to  Gertie,"  I  answered, 
"  and  if  she  can  be  induced  to  go  to  Xew  York,  or  Xorth 
anyAvhere,  I  will  take  every  care  of  her ;  my  house 
shall  be  her  home,  and  I  tliink  myself  that  if  she  again 
meets  Mr.  Stuart  their  engagement  will  be  renewed. 
I  decidedly  approve  of  its  being  broken  first,  and  if 
renewed  let  it  be  at  his  urgent  solicitations.  Let  us  not 
interfere,  he  will  like  her  all  the  better,  thinking  he  has 
lost  her." 


A   STOEY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAE.  249 

One  thing,  however,  I  did  intend;  to  make  no 
foolish  self-sacrifice  for  her  sake.  It  should  be  a  fair 
field,  and  no  quarter  between  us. 

I  found  Gertie  very  willing  to  postpone  her  mar- 
riage. Nothing  was  said  about  her  going  North,  but 
it  was  considered  possible  I  might  be  able  to  send  her 
a  few  thinofs  for  her  bridal  toilette.  She  would  wait  a 
year  for  the  possibility. 

Dr.  Carr  bore  it  better  than  I  expected;  "  There 
is  some  thought  of  her  being  sent  North,"  I  said; 
"  I  cannot  promise  you  to  keep  her  constant." 

"  Do  not  try  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Aberthnay ;  I  am 
already  over  the  first  heat  of  my  love,  for  I  am  as  in- 
constant as  Gertie.  If  it  is  to  5e,  it  will  Je, — if  not, 
no  fretting  will  make  it  better." 

"Will  you  take  his  letters  back?"  Gertie  said  to 
];ne.  "  I  have  addressed  them  ;  you  can  put  them  in 
the  express  at  New  York." 

"  If  it  were  not  for  Dr.  Carr,  I  suppose  you  would 
come  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  are  they  stupid  there,  do  you  sup- 
pose ?    I  would  like  a  little  excitement." 

"  I  will  keep  a  room  ready  for  you,"  I  answered, 
"  any  time  you  feel  inclined  to  take  a  run  up  North 
I  shall  be  overjoyed  to  see  you." 

And  so  we  separated. 
11* 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

I  WAS  received  with  great  kindness  by  Gen.  Yane, 
to  whom  Gertrude  had  written  so  much  of  me,  he  said, 
that  he  quite  felt  as  if  lie  knew  me. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness 
to  my  little  girl.  There  is  a  world  of  good  in  that 
light  heart  of  hers  if  one  only  gets  at  it.  Her  mother, 
who  has  not  half  her  character,  is  always  in  a  fret 
about  her.  One  of  those  unfortunate  cases  of  a  com- 
plete misunderstanding  between  mother  and  daughter; 
another  result  of  the  abominable  system  of  education 
which  we  admii'e  so  much  in  this  country.  I  don't  in 
the  least  doubt  that  there  is  a  natural  virtue  called 
filial  affection.  It  is  equally  undeniable  that  that  af- 
fection, like  all  other  affections,  is  keen-:sighted  and 
very  jealous.  It  will  not  have  its  object  less  loved, 
less  honored  than  others ;  and  if  that  object  fails  to 
win  the  honor  and  love  of  others,  or  show  itself  wor- 
thy to  gain  that  honor,  it  is  very  clear  it  will  lose 
that  which  came  to  it  naturally.  Mrs.  Yane  was  a 
brilliant  woman  when  I  married  her.     K  Gertie  had 


A   STORY   OP   OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  251 

known  her  then,  she  would  have  bent  to  her  with  per- 
fect docility,  but,  like  all  American  women, — no,  I 
will  make  a  few  exceptions, — she  allowed  marriage  to 
be  the  end  of  her  life,  when  it  is  really  the  beginning 
of  a  woman's  existence ;  all  that  goes  before  is  but  a 
preparation  for  this.  When  Gertie  was  old  enough  to 
find  companionship  with  her  mother, — when  her  mind 
was  fresh,  undisciplined,  incomplete,  but  still  a  mind, 
what  had  her  mother  to  offer?  She  had  forgotten  her 
French,  she  had  given  up  her  music,  she  only  read  a 
few  novels  and  the  cookery-book,  she  had  given  up 
society  and  society  graces,  she  had  ceased  taking  in- 
terest in  people ;  and  what  was  Gertie  to  do  ?  She 
snubbed  her  mother  in  a  way  at  which  I  had  to  blush. 
She  made  no  allowances ;  what  child  ever  did  ?  She 
went  her  own  way,  and  found  companionship  where 
she  could ;  and,  disappointed  in  her  mother's  society, 
judged  her  deficient  in  every  thing." 

"  It  is  the  story  of  a  thousand  others,"  I  said. 

"  I  ought  to  make  one  exception,"  he  added,  "  since 
you  have  seen  so  much  of  my  family  to  make  candor 
a  necessity.  Gertie  bows  down  to  her  mother  in  one 
respect ;  in  one  thing  she  trusts  her  judgment  im- 
plicitly, that  great  and  mighty  theme  o^  dress  f'' 

"  It  proves  what  could  have  been  done  if  her  re- 
spect could  have  been  excited  by  other  things.  It  is 
an  old  story,  that  no  two  people  can  meet  a  dozen 
times  without  discussing.     I  have  great  hopes  that 


252  AT   ANCHOR : 

this  war  will  make  a  change  in  this  respect ;  there  will 
be  made  so  many  sudden  fortunes  by  the  'people,' 
that  rank  and  position  will  cease  to  depend,  as  it  has 
hitherto,  on  wealth.  Mind,  character,  and  education 
will  define  station;  men  and  women  are  learning  now 
on  how  very  little  they  can  live  comfortably,  and  the 
cares  of  luxury  will  no  longer  take  precedence  of 
every  attainment;  and  women,  relieved  from  the 
charoje  of  larsje  establishments,  wiU  have  more  time 
and  strength  to  be  accomplished,  intelligent,  and 
good-tempered." 

"  A  dream  of  Utopia,  my  dear  Madam.  You  have 
seen  yourself  that  the  love  of  display  is  as  strong 
in  the  Southern  cities  as  it  ever  has  been,  and  the  only 
result  of  the  much-vaunted  economy  of  our  women 
will  be  to  show  them  how  much  more  they  can  do 
than  they  thought  they  could ;  and  when  the  old  order 
comes  back,  there  will  be  this  new  order  to  double 
their  burden.  In  the  Xorth,  we  hear,  extravagance  is 
running  riot." 

"  But  it  vnll  soon  run  its  course,"  I  said ;  "  and  I 
doubt  not,  women  South  and  Xorth  will  learn  to  blush 
to  go  feasting  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  while  every 
day  new  hearts  are  sitting  desolate  in  their  mourning. 
Mrs.  Yane  tells  me  there  is  some  prospect  that  Gertie 
will  go  to  Xew  York.  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  re- 
ceive her  if  you  will  let  her  come  to  me,  and  perhaps 
we  two  may  do  each  other  good." 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIYIL   WAR.  253 

"  You  go  back  to  your  parents,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  have  none ;  my  mother  died  before  I  can  re- 
member, and  of  my  father  I  know  only  that  he  seems 
to  have  forgotten  my  existence.  My  uncle,  who  took 
me  as  his  own  child  when  my  mother  died,  has  ever 
been  tenderness  and  generosity  itself  in  my  regard." 

"  If,  instead  of  that  black  dress,  and  wearing  your 
hair  tight  under  that  widow's  cap,  you  were  dressed 
in  brilliant  colors,  with  your  hair  an*anged  as  it  was 
worn  twenty-five  years  ago,  you  would  be  a  living 
portrait  of  some  one  I  once  knew." 

"I  shall  never  have  the  heart  to  wear  brilliant 
colors  again,  for  the  reasons  that  I  have  left  my  girl- 
hood and  my  wealth  behind  me ;  still  if,  after  the  war 
is  over,  you  will  allow  me  to  thank  you  in  my  own 
home  for  enabling  me  to  reach  it,  and  if  it  would  be 
a  pleasant  picture,  I  should  be  glad  to  array  myself  to 
please  you." 

"  It  would  not  be  a  pleasant  picture,"  he  answered 
abruptly.     "  May  I  ask  your  maiden  name  ?  " 

"  Georgie  Yane." 

"I  supposed  so.  If  you  have  not  had  your  sus- 
picions, you  must  be  slower  of  perception  than  I  think 
you;  but,  taught  as  you  must  have  been  to  hate  me,  I 
wonder  your  mother's  daughter  would  stoop  to  ac- 
cept any  thing  from  her  husband's  hands." 

"  I  have  never  been  taught  to  hate  you,"  I  an- 
swered ;    "  and  in   accepting  my   safety   from   your 


254  AT  anchor: 

hands,  I  believe  I  take  only  what  it  is  your  right  and 
pleasure  to  give.  I  have  never  sat  in  judgment  upon 
you.  It  is  twenty-five  years  since  those  things  hap- 
pened ;  and  I  doubt  not  you  are  painfully  wiser  now 
than  you  were  then.  If  I  am  like  my  mother,  or 
rather,  if  she  were  like  me,  there  can  be  not  a  wish  or 
thought  of  revenge  in  her  heart.  Yet,  as  there  is 
a  certain  poetic  justice  sometimes  occurring  in  this 
world,  permit  me  to  say  that  I  consider  it  has  been 
fully  meted  out  to  you,  insomuch  that,  having  once 
known  and  loved,  and  been  loved  by  a  woman  such  as 
my  mother  was,  you  have  bound  yourself  to  life-long 
com^Danionship  to  a  woman  such  as  her  successor  is." 

"  Those  words  are  bitter  enough  to  cancel  half  of 
those  I  said  to  your  mother ;  but  I  like  them  better 
than  milder  ones,  for  they  show  me  at  least  you  do 
not  despise  the  reputed  character  of  your  father  so 
much  that  you  will  not  honor  him  with  your  sarcasms. 
You  have  grown  a  daughter  to  be  proud  of." 

"  And  you,  sir,  were  we  to  meet  as  simply  friends, 
would  soon  win  my  admiration.  I  make  no  claims  to 
any  especial  tenderness  for  you ;  if  I  judge  you  ever, 
I  judge  you  as  a  man,  not  as  my  father,  or  my  mother's 
unappreciative  husband." 

"  You  are  very  kind  !  Perhaps  we  may  meet  some 
time  again,  for  I  do  claim  especial  tenderness  for  you ; 
I  do  claim  the  warmest  feeling  of  my  life  for  you;  and 
as  I  never  longed  for  love  even  from  my  first  love, 


A    STOKY    OF    OTJR   CIVIL   WAK.  255 

your  mother,  I  do  yearn  for  a  kinder  feeling  from 
you." 

"  You  must  win  it,  then,  sir ;  for  it  is  absolutely 
not  in  my  power  to  give  it  otherwise.  Filial  affection, 
you  said  not  an  hour  ago,  was  a  natural  virtue  ;  it  is 
dead  in  my  heart  ;  but  there  is  room  above  its  grave 
for  the  growth  of  a  vigorous  affection,  I  assure  you." 

"  If  there  is  any  thing  left  of  me,  body  or  soul, 
when  this  war  is  over,  I  shall  try  to  plant  something 
there." 

"  Yet  coldly  as  I  have  spoken,  sir,  do  not  think  it 
is  nothing  to  me  that  I  have  found  a  father.  I  thought 
my  life  was  dead  since  it  had  lived  in  vain.  My  hus- 
band, as  you  know,  died  a  prisoner ;  my  uncle  is  old 
and  not  married,  and  is  lately  rendered  quite  infirm  by 
a  fall  from  a  horse,  from  which  he  can  never  fully  re- 
cover ;  there  is  no  one  to  lay  up  honor  for  my  name 
when  this  war  has  passed ;  there  is  no  name,  a  name 
of  use  and  fame,  to  which  I  can  point,  and  say  I  was 
something  to  him." 

"  I  understand  you.  But  you  are  yet  only  a  girl ; 
your  beauty  is  not  yet  at  its  height ;  you  can  and  I 
hope  will  marry  again,  and  this  time  let  it  be  to  some 
soldier  who  will  hang  the  Federal  flag  over  the  black 
stain  of  a  rebellious  husband  and  a  traitor  father." 

I  flushed  a  little ;  but  I  only  answered  by  speak- 
ing of  Gertie.    "  If  she  comes  North  she  mil  come  to 


me 


9" 


256  AT   ANCHOE. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said  stiffly;  "I  prefer  she  should 
go  to  her  mother's  relatives.  It  is  now  time  for  me  to 
leave  you ;  I  think  you  understand  precisely  every 
thing  that  you  have  to  do.  I  do  not  believe  you  will 
have  any  difficulties  of  moment ;  I  will  attend  to  Ma- 
jor Aberthnay's  property,  and  hope  I  shall  be  able  to 
preserve  it  for  you."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  took 
out  his  watch,  a  magnificent  one.  "  It  is  scarcely  fit 
for  a  lady's  use,"  he  continued ;  "  but  I  doubt  not  your 
uncle,  who  seems  to  have  transferred, — I  will  not 
make  you  angry,  so  no  matter, — I  am  poor  in  memen- 
toes now,  but  I  pray  you  accept  this  as  a  pledge  of 
remembrance,  or  as  any  thing  you  choose.  I  presume 
it  would  be  asking  too  much  grace  to  request  a  line 
some  time  to  assure  me  of  your  safe  arrival  ?  " 

"  Should  I  find  an  opportunity  to  send  you  I  will 
write  with  pleasure." 

Then  David  and  I  turned  our  backs  on  the  land  of 
the  South,  and  with  our  faces  JSTorthward  hui'ried  on 
our  way. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

I  COULD  Dot  pass  further  on  until  I  had  seen  my 
husband's  grave.  It  delayed  me  some  weeks,  but  the 
force  of  a  strong  will  is  invincible.  I  went  at  even- 
ing, during  a  September  storm,  for  there  was  such 
confusion  and  fear  on  every  hand  that  I  did  not  dare 
risk  an  hour  in  going.  Evening  settled  into  darkness 
and  night,  while  David  and  a  guide  we  had  with  great 
difficulty  procured,  searched,  and  at  last  found  it.  By 
the  light  of  their  lanterns  I  read  the  rough  inscription 
on  the  wooden  slab : 


AbepwTHKat,  C.  S.  a. 


Died 1862." 

I  sent  the  men  back  to  a  house  near  at  hand,  while 
I  stayed  and  kept  one  night's  watch  over  that  lonely, 
almost  nameless  and  never  honored  grave,  over  which 
had  passed  and  repassed  the  trampling  feet  of  broken 
and  routed  armies. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

At  New  York  I  sent  the  parcel  of  Gilbert  Stuart's 
letters  which  Gertrude  had  confided  to  my  care,  her 
engagement  ring,  and  his  presents,  back  to  him  ac- 
cording to  her  instructions,  and  in  such  a  manner  that 
he  would  not  be  likely  to  connect  the  sending  of  them 
with  my  return. 

I  say  nothing  of  the  feelings  with  which  I  took 
the  cars  for  home,  for  glorious  oldMassachusetts's  truly 
sacred  soil.  I  dared  not  think  what  changes  had  come 
to  that  home.  Yet  there  seemed  little  change  around. 
Broadway  was  as  crowded,  its  windows  as  richly 
filled  as  when  I  drove  down  in  the  carriage  with  half- 
closed  curtains  with  Carl. 

Here  and  there  I  had  met  a  soldier,  and  was  re- 
minded that  there  was  really  war  in  the  land.  Officers 
I  saw  in  abundance,  in  fresh  new  uniforms,  as  if  out 
for  a  holiday,  and  with  them  often  stylishly  dressed 
ladies  looking  proud  and  hapjDy. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  in  early  autumn,  and  a 
brilliant  October  sun  gilded  the  old  familiar  words, 


A   STOEY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  259 

which  I  think  I  shall  never  see  without  a  heart-bound : 
"  New  York  and  Boston  Express  Line.^''  October  has 
always  been  called  my  month,  typical  of  me  in  my  old 
days  of  joy  and  happiness,  and  I  hailed  it  as  a  good 
omen  that  its  beautifully  blue  skies  guided  me 
home. 

Do  we  really  thinh  on  days  like  this  I  am  chron- 
icling,— days  when  all  our  days  seem  to  have  culmi- 
nated in  one,  and  all  our  lives  pass  in  review  before  us  ? 
Back  came  the  days  when  Carl  and  Uncle  Tom  would 
put  me  in  the  cars  or  meet  me  coming,  when  Carl's 
face  would  flush,  and  his  eager  eyes  single  me  from 
the  crowd,  and  joyously  look  down  their  greeting; 
over  again  I  lived  the  alternate  joy  and  pain  of  our 
intercourse,  my  own  hardness  and  his  wistful  pleading, 
and  now  love  or  coldness  availed  him  nothing. 

Nearer,  nearer  flew  the  train,  and  at  last  the 
blessed  Massachusetts  breeze,  the  loyal  Massachusetts 
breeze  that  no  traitor-breath  had  ever  tainted,  blew 
glad  welcome  in  my  face.  I  forgot  the  widow's  cap, 
and  with  all  the  buoyancy  of  youth  and  happiness 
bent  forward  to  answer  its  greeting.  If  the  calm, 
stolid  travellers  around  me  were  astonished  to  see  the 
stern-seeming  widow  flush  up  into  animation  and  ex- 
citement, it  mattered  little  to  me.  Ah  !  how  truly  I 
felt  in  the  words  of  one  of  my  favorite  poets,  Adrien 
Rouquette : 

"  Bair  de  noire  patrie  est  le  seul  air  vital." 


260  AT  anchor: 

And  now  the  "  iron  horse  "  hurried  on,  rattling  over 
the  well-known  bridge,  crossing  the  narrow  river 
where  I  had  so  often  been  boating  for  pond  lilies ; 
running  on  with  its  joyous  tidings  to  the  grand  old 
forests  with  their  fullest  splendor  of  purple  and  gold, 
and  brown  and  scarlet ;  screaming  through  the  little 
towns,  nests  of  cottages  shining  now  in  sunset  beauty ; 
winding  around  the  soft  green  hills,  lighted  by  flam- 
ing autumn  berries ;  dashing  through  fields  thick  with 
heavily-laden  trees  of  fruit ;  out  again  into  the  sunlit 
town,  and  now  slower  and  slower,  for  the  end  is  near. 

There  was  no  carriage  with  its  jDrancing  horses,  no 
Uncle  Tom  with  his  bluff  "  Well,  old  lady  !  "  to  meet 
me  as  I  sprang  from  the  train,  and  burning  with  im- 
patience turned  into  the  grassy  lane,  where  silence 
and  solitude  walked  with  me.  Silence  and  solitude 
followed  me  into  the  narrow  street,  through  the  old 
brown  gate,  under  the'  arching  elms,  up  to  the  vine- 
Avreathed  porch,  past  the  half-open  door  into  the 
diamond-floored  hall. 

Like  pilgrim  at  the  shrine  I  could  have  kissed  the 
cold  marble ;  but  my  joy  and  impatience  hurried  me 
on  to  surprise  those  who  counted  me  as  almost  of  the 
dead.  A  long  loose  circular  of  my  favorite  scarlet 
hung  in  the  hall ;  I  wrapped  it  around  me  to  cover  the 
black  dress,  and  laid  my  own  sombre  wrappings,  even 
my  widow's  cap,  aside. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  KNEW  it  was  probably  their  hour  for  tea,  and  I 
hurried  into  the  library  separated  by  glass  doors  fi^om 
the  dining-room.  At  the  table,  as  I  could  see  through 
these  doors,  were  seated  three  persons.  Facing  me  sat 
my  Uncle  Tom, — my  Uncle  Tom,  with  eye-glasses  on 
before  folk  !  Opposite  him  was  a  lady,  whom  I  easily 
conjectured  to  be  Kate;  between  them  a  young  man  in 
an  officer's  uniform. 

Uncle  Tom  looked  up  suddenly;  "Kate,"  he  said, 
"  there  is  some  one  in  the  library." 

I  sprang  into  a  corner. 

"  I  guess  not,"  answered  Kate,  turning  round. 

"  I  tell  you  there  is,  or  was,"  he  persisted ;  "  I  saw 
something  red  by  the  doors." 

"Probably  the  light  through  the  curtains," 
Kate   answered;  "we   are  having  gorgeous   sunsets 

now." 

"  I  move  we  make  a  search  after  tea,"  the  officer 

remarked. 

"  Kate,"  my  uncle  said,  "  what  do  you  do  to  the 


262  AT  AJS-CHOE. 

tea ;  it  does  not  taste  like  tea.  I  have  not  had  a  de- 
cent cup  of  tea  since  jDoor  Georgie  went  away." 

The  glass  doors  slid  back  at  a  touch :  "  Let  me, 
uncle,"  I  said,  as  quietly  as  if  I  had  not  been  away  a 
week. 

My  uncle  sat  as  if  paralyzed,  his  eyes  dilating  as 
he  stared  at  me. 

Kate,  more  practical,  rushed  to  me.  "  Why,  Georgie 
Yane,"  she  exclaimed, "  what  a  way  to  surprise  people ! 
I  f^el  as  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  in  my  cloak,  too ! 
Are  you  real  ?  " 

"  Georgie ! "  my  uncle  said,  faintly,  in  a  tone  be- 
tween an  exclamation  and  an  interrogation,  "My 
Georgie?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  kissing  him. 

"  My  own,  own  Georgie  ? — my  pet,  my  darling,  my 
old  lady  really  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  interposed  Kate ;  "  I  am 
sure  I  am  as  white  as  a  sheet.  There  never  was  such 
a  surprise !  How  did  you  get  here  ?  If  you  had  sent 
us  word  so  we  could  have  had  the  carriage." 

"  I  could  not  have  kept  quiet  in  a  carriage  ! "  I  an- 
swered. 

"  It  is  really  you,  Georgie  ?"  again  asked  my  uncle. 

"  As  sure  as  can  be,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  go  there  and  make  me  a  cup  of  tea,"  he 
ordered. 


A   STOKY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  263 

"  Before  I  abdicate,"  said  Kate,  "  let  me  introduce 
Captain  Lewis ;  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Abertlinay,  just  from 
the  laud  of  secesh." 

Captain  Lewis  arose  and  bowed,  but  he  could  not 
let  down  his  eyelids. 

I  made  my  uncle's  tea  under  a  rattling  fire  of  ques- 
tions from  Kate. 

My  uncle  tasted  his  tea.  "  It  is  Georgie,"  he  said, 
and  rising,  rang  the  bell  violently. 

"  Here,  all  you  people  ! "  he  cried,  as  every  one  in 
the  house  rushed  to  see  what  was  the  matter ;  "  here, 
all  you  jDCople  !  rejoice  and  make  merry,  and  kill  the 
fatted  calf,  for  she  that  was  lost  is  found." 

Every  one  who  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  "  Miss 
Georgie,"  headed  by  Mrs.  Glynn,  now  gathered  around 
me,  for  in  five  minutes'  time  I  had  succeeded  in  setting 
my  uncle's  usually  quiet  mansion  into  a  terrific  uproar. 
Some  hurried  me  up-staii's  and  pushed  me  on  a  lounge ; 
one  unlaced  my  boots,  one  pulled  down  my  hair,  an- 
other disencumbered  me  of  my  heavy  dress,  while 
another  stood  ready  to  envelop  me  in  one  of  my  old 
wrappers  that  Mrs  Glynn  kept  as  sacredly  as  relics. 
They  washed  my  face  and  combed  my  hair  as  if  I  had 
just  been  brought  in  ^rom  the  dirt,  and  with  a  zeal 
not  complimentary  to  Secessia. 

As  soon  as  I  was  considered  clean  enough  I  Avas 
permitted  to  descend  to  the  dining-room,  where  there 
was  a  scene  I  shall  never  remember  without  laughing 


264  AT  anchor: 

and  crying  together.  While  the  women  were  employ- 
ed -vyith  me,  Uncle  Tom  had  not  been  idle.  I  had  told 
David  to  wait  half  an  hour  at  the  station,  and  then 
find  his  way  to  the  "  big  brown  house  with  the  cupo- 
la," which  we  could  see  from  the  railroad  depot ;  for 
I  wished  to  make  my  entrance  unattended.  His  half 
hour  had  been  a  short  one,  or  he  had  taken  a  "  short 
cut,"  for  very  soon  my  uncle's  quick  ears  had  caught 
the  sound  of  boots  on  the  gravelled  pathway,  and 
David  was  at  once  hailed  and  pressed  into  my  uncle's 
service,  as  the  young  officer  had  been.  In  order  to  en- 
large the  table  they  had  taken  off  the  tea-things,  and, 
manlike,  piled  them  in  a  corner.  "With  another  leaf  in 
the  table  the  cloth  proved  too  short,  but  they  had 
concealed,  as  they  supposed,  the  discrepancy  by  the 
tea-tray  ;  they  had  piled  upon  the  table  every  article 
of  food  to  be  found  in  garret,  cellar,  kitchen,  or  or- 
chard, and,  with  a  consideration  natural  to  him,  my 
uncle  had  given  David  to  eat  of  the  leg  of  a  chicken, 
but  not  the  usual  facilities  for  disposing  of  the  luxuri- 
ous drumstick. 

The  picture  that  presented  itself  to  my  view  as  I 
reached  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  was  a  ludicrous 
one.  My  uncle,  with  his  face  very  red,  was  pulling 
very  hard  at  a  stubborn  cork  in  a  bottle  of  his  rarest 
wine.  Captain  Lewis,  with  coat-sleeves  daintily  rolled 
back,  and  looking  very  much  disgusted,  was  trying  to 
find  place  for  a  dish  of  jelly  ;  and  David,  on  a  broad 


A   STOET   OF    OFR   CIVIL   WAE.  265 

grin,  with  teeth  and  one  hand  kept  tight  hold  of  the 
drum-stick,  while  with  the  other  hand  and  one  knee  he 
was  upholding  a  dish  of  meat,  apparently  waiting  for 
the  Captain  to  find  room  for  it. 

One  would  have  imagined  all  Secessia  was  in  a 
starving  condition,  and  I,  as  their  representative,  was 
expected  to  eat  enough  for  all. 

"  But,  bless  his  heart !  "  as  Mrs.  Glynn  privately 
informed  me,  "  he'd  die,  master  would,  if  he  couldn't 
do  something  for  you," 

And  so  I  sat  down,  and  was  waited  on.  I  refused 
not  to  "make  an  effort"  at  every  thing  he  piled  upon 
my  plate. 

Kate  and  the  captain  sat  side  by  side,  and  made 
low-toned  comments  ;  and  when,  at  last,  I  was  consid- 
ered to  have  eaten  enough,  and  we  had  adjourned  to 
the  parlor  for  a  good  talk.  Captain  Lewis  opened  his 
mouth  and  spake  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  prosperity,  Mrs  Ab- 
erthnay  ?  Does  it  not  greatly  surprise  you  ?  I  wish 
you  could  tell  your  rebel  friends  of  our  abundance.  A 
large  number  of  us  are  in  favor  of  staiwing  them  out. 
I  presume  you  have  seen  terrible  destitution  there?" 

And  I  answered,  "  You  of  the  Korth  and  they  of 
the  South  seem  to  know  about  as  much  of  each  other 
as  you  do  of  the  Kamtschatkans." 

"Do  you  mean  they  are  not  on  the  verge  of  starva- 
tion? "said  he. 
12 


266  AT  anchor: 

"I  do,"  said  I;  "and  I  mean  more.  You  must 
fight  them  in  earnest,  in  fail'  and  open  fight,  if  you 
wish  to  conquer  them." 

This  was  all  I  ever  told  of  my  experience  in  the 
South. 

When  David  had  been  feasted  and  lionized  in  the 
kitchen,  I  saw  him  to  give  him  some  orders. 

"  Dis  beiTy  grand  place,"  he  volunteered ;  "  dey's 
"berry  proud  to  hab  you,  Missus.  Wish  Massa  Carl 
could  see  how  berry  glad  dey  is ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

And  so  I  was  home  again, — home  in  all  tlie  dear 
old  places,  and  scarcely  able  to  realize  such  tempests 
of  sorrow  had  swept  over  me,  except,  perhaps,  by  the 
calm  they  had  left. 

Nearly  all  our  young  gentlemen  Mends  with  whom 
we  had  been  boating,  riding,  picnicing,  and  dancing, 
were  off  to  the  war;  many  had  been  killed,  some  were 
maimed  for  life ;  scarcely  a  dwelling  in  the  land  that 
had  not  been  under  the  shadow  of  death.  I^ot  a 
dwelling  in  the  land,  thought  I,  but  has  hoj^es  to  have 
a  flag,  or  sword,  or  musket  to  show  when  this  war 
shall  be  a  page  in  history. 

Gilbert  Stuart,  Kate  said,  had  been  among  the 
first  to  leave.  He  had  gone  first  as  a  private  in  the 
old  Sixth, — the  immortal  Sixth,  whose  blood  stands  re- 
corded against  the  city  of  Baltimore, — a  record  which 
tears  and  blood  such  as  no  city  has  yet  shed,  can  ever 
wholly  wipe  away.  Gilbert  was  an  ofiicer  now,  Kate 
thought,  though  she  knew  but  little  of  him  lately. 
Others,  mere  boys  when  I  was  married,  were  distin- 


268  AT  anchor: 

guished  officers  now ;  and  young  girls  then,  like  me, 
were  widows  now. 

Crowds  besieged  me,  for  I  was  a  wonder.  I  had 
come  from  Richmond;  I  knew  all  about  the  rebel 
army  and  all  about  the  rebel  politics.  I  was  pestered 
with  questions,  but  I  told  nothing.  What  right  had 
I  to  tell  ?  The  South  had  trusted  me ;  and  I  could 
not  betray  the  trust.  They  hinted  that  I  seemed  half 
secessionist,  but  in  time  they  found  that  I  was  stronger 
Union  than  many  of  them. 

Many  weeks  passed  and  stretched  away  into 
months.  I  had  become  quietly  domesticated  at  home 
again,  wondering  sometimes  what  had  become  of  Mr. 
Stuart.  Had  he  died  in  the  prison  hospital,  or  escaped 
death  that  time  to  meet  it  on  some  battle-field  ?  Who 
could  tell  me?  I  had  thought  I  should  hear  from 
him  after  his  reception  of  his  letters,  for  Gertrude  had 
requested  him  to  give  the  ring  to  me,  if  not  from  him- 
self as  from  her ;  and,  if  alive,  he  had  ample  time  to 
have  heard  of  my  return  from  the  South,  for  it  had 
been  talked  of  far  and  wide. 

Perhaps  he  did  not  think  me  worthy  of  the  ring 
now.  Something  of  the  same  spirit  which  had  moved 
Gertrude,  when  she  said,  "  I  meant  he  should  love  me 
and  suffer  for  me  some  time,"  arose  in  my  heart. 

One  night  a  gentleman  did  call  to  see  me,  and  in 
the  self-same  room  where  I  had  so  often  dressed  to 
meet  him  I  read  his  card. 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR,  269 

The  Captain's  unifoiTa  to  which  he  had  now  risen, 
became  him  well;  manly,  and  stately,  and  stern  he 
was  now, — a  man  whose  voice  might  make  regiments 
start  and  tremble,  if  raised  in  command,  and,  if  low- 
ered to  tones  of  sweet  persuasion,  might  win  the 
hardest  heart. 

Haughty,  stern,  and  impatient  now,  where  he  had 
before  been  easy  tempered  and  too  patient,  I  won- 
dered had  Gertrude  or  I,  or  neither  of  us,  the  most  to 
do  with  this  change. 

"I  learned  only  a  few  days  ago  that  you  were 
here,"  he  said,  in  rich  but  rather  ceremonious  tones. 
"  I  have  been  home  on  sick  leave ;  home  now  means 
New  York ;  my  parents  are  there,  but  my  sister  is 
married  and  living  here.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  safely 
in  your  old  home.  It  will  be  to  remain  until  the  war 
is  over,  I  trust  ?" 

"  I  expect  it  to  be  my  home  for  the  rest  of  my  life," 
I  answered ;  "  I  have  left  many  pleasant  friends  be- 
hind ;  but  I  do  believe  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when 
there  will  be  as  free  communication  between  us  as 
there  was  formerly." 

"  I,  too,  found  friends  in  the  South,  and  in  the  day 
of  my  sorest  need.  I  was  wounded  and  taken  pris- 
oner ;  but  either  through  a  mistake,  or  the  charity  of 
a  Southern  lady,  was  taken  to  her  house  and  cared  for 
as  if  I  had  been  the  favorite  son  of  the  house.  If  I 
live  until  this  war  is  over,  I  shall  endeavor  to  find 


270  AT  axchor: 

and  thank  lier  for  her  hospitality,  her  more  than  hospi- 
tality." 

"  Was  that  in  Richmond  ?  "  I  asked,  restrained  by 
his  distant  manner  from  saying  more. 

"  Tes,  and  at  the  very  time  when  Richmond  was 
in  its  greatest  jDanic.  It  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  me ; 
for  Union  prisoners,  men  of  health  and  vigor,  are  con- 
stantly dying  under  the  iron  hand  of  their  captors, 
and  I  could  not  have  hoped  for  any  care  in  the  prison." 

"  Yet  they  try  to  give  it  ?  " 

"  Officers  do, — for  gentlemen  are  gentlemen  all  the 
world  over, — and  a  being  with  a  spark  of  manhood, 
courtesy,  or  of  courage,  would  scorn  to  taunt  a  cap- 
tive, and  would  always  he  tender  to  a  wounded  sol- 
dier.   I  cannot  say  as  much  for  the  ladies." 

"  These  thino^s  must  be  hard  to  bear  ?  " 

"They  are  terrible.  To  hear  their  taunts  and 
sneers,  and  feel  your  blood  boiling,  and  not  be  able  to 
strike  or  answer  one  word,  because  they  are  wo- 
men ! " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  I  said ;  "  I  cannot  forgive 
them,  but  I  would  like  to  forget  it." 

"  I  very  seldom  speak  of  it,"  he  returned ;  "  for 
the  sake  of  that  one  noble  woman  who  acted  the 
Good  Samaritan  to  me,  I  have  been,  as  far  as  regard 
for  truth  would  permit,  their  champion." 

"  Gallantry  and  gratitude  must  have  a  hard  task 
to  raise  you  to  that  point,"  I  answered. 


A  STORY   OF   OUE   CIVIL   AVAE.  271 

Our  constrained  conversation  now  gave  place  to 
an  embarrassed  silence,  and  to  relieve  it  lie  asked  me 
if  I  still  sang. 

"More  than  ever,"  I  said;  "  music  is  my  only  ex- 
pression; sometimes,  if  we  have  not  expression,  we 
must  die." 

"  I  have  not  attempted,"  he  replied ;  "  I  feel  how 
useless  the  attempt  to  say  to  you  how  much  I  sym- 
pathize— " 

"Do  not,"  I  answered.  "Nothing  can  be  said. 
What  would  you  wish  me  to  sing  for  you  ?  " 

"One  of  your  own  songs.  You  know  I  always 
liked  them  the  best." 

"  Did  you  ?     I  had  forgotten." 

And  that  was  the  time  I  told  a  lie. 

"  I  have  about  given  up  song-making,"  I  added ; 
"  I  wish  I  had  a  stirring  war-song  for  you,  but  I  have 
not ;  and  as  I  cannot  improvise  I  must  give  you  some- 
thing else.  This  is  my  latest ;  written  when  Yankee 
indifference  one  day  roused  my  ire,"  and  I  sang : 

"  Where,  oh  where,  are  the  brave  knights  gone — 

The  loyal  and  the  grand — 
Who  drove  the  cowards.  Guilt  and  Wrong, 

Through  all  their  storied  land  ? 
Where,  oh  where,  are  the  brave  knights  fled — 

The  loyal  and  the  true — 
Whose  shafts,  by  Mars  or  Cupid  sped, 

Ne'er  falsely  aimed  or  flew  ? 


272  AT  anchor: 

"  Where,  oh  where,  are  the  brave  knights  now, 

With  their  fond  love  of  right, 
Who  never  failed  the  needed  blow 

To  punish  wicked  might  ? 
Where,  oh  where,  do  the  young  knights  rest ! 

Who  galloped  far  and  wide. 
With  flashing  eyes  and  dauntless  breast, 

To  fight  at  Honor's  side  ?  " 

"There's  more  of  it,  an  interminable  string  of 
verses.     Do  yoii  want  more  ?  " 

"  Oh,  decidedly !  I  am  curious  to  know  how  you 
get  along  without  your  knights,  if  only  echo  answers 
where^  and  what  you  will  do  with  them  if  found." 

"  You  shall  hear : 

*'  Now  here  we  see  the  open  Usts, 

And  Treason  talks  aloud, 
And  strikes  with  lance  and  clenched  fists 

The  shield  of  Truth  so  proud. 
And  Liberty,  with  pale,  thin  hands 

Chained  o'er  her  aching  breast, 
All  helpless  at  his  mercy  stands. 

Claimed  as  his  slave  and  jest ! " 

"  I  trust,"  he  said  very  gravely,  "  your  last  word 
is  not  intended  as  a  disrespectful  allusion  to  the  very 
witty  Father  of  his  Country  ?  " 

"I  assure  you  not,"  I  replied.  "It  was  for  the 
rhyme." 

"  I  am  doubtful  yet,"  he  said ;  "  but  perhaps  your 
next  verses  will  redeem  the  unlucky  word." 


A   STOKT    OP    OTJR   CIVIL   "\VAI5.  273 

"  But  what,"  I  asked,  "  will  redeem  the  fact  ?  " 

"  That  is  disrespectful  to  my  commander-in-chief. 
Is  not  this  a  free  country,  and  shall  he  not  have  his 
little  jokes  ?  " 

"I  submit,"!  answered;  "  but  that  is  quite  enough 
of  my  song." 

"  Xot  by  any  means,"  he  answered  ;  "  it  does  not 
give  it  a  finish." 

"  Oh  well,  one  more ;  one  of  many  : 

"  Oh  !  that  as  m  days  past  and  gone, 

Pressing  Ml  deep  the  spur, 
Gallantly  would  come  dashing  on 

Some  knight  to  rescue  her. 
But  give  us  blood  and  grief  and  tears, 

Through  our  slumbering  land, 
Till  we  have  roused  from  other  years 

The  brave  old  knightly  band." 

"  You  will  join  it,  won't  you,  Mr.  Stuart  ?  " 
"  The  *  brave  old  knightly  band,'  I  wish  I  could." 
"  'No  knight  ever  fought  in  a  better  cause,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  for  the  cause  of  country,  government,  and 
humanity,  is  the  cause  of  God." 

"  God  help  it ! "  he  answered ;  "  it  seems  a  hard 
fight,  sometimes." 

"  You  go  back  to  it  soon  ?  " 

"  In  a  day  or  two ;  perhaps  to-morrow.  I  can 
hardly  hope  to  see  you  again,  yet  I  am  loth  to  say 
good-bye." 

12* 


274  AT  anchor: 

"  And  I, — it  is  hard  to  see  tlie  sturdiest  private  in 
the  street,  trudging  off  to  the  war  with  his  knapsack 
on  his  back,  and  somebody's  good-bye  in  his  ears." 
".I  suppose  you  pray  for  our  soldiers?" 
"I  do,  indeed;  what  woman  does  not?" 
"  Then  you  will'  pray  for  me  ?     Good-bye." 
He  held  my  hand  an   iustant,  and  looked  do^yn 
into  my  eyes. 

I  felt  myself  coloring,  but  I  drew  away  my  hand 
instantly. 

He  said  nothing  of  Gertrude's  ring,  but  every  tone 
of  his  voice,  constrained  though  it  was,  told  me  he 
knew  he  was  free. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

My  life  was  a  weary  one ;  but  I  need  not  tell  you 
that.  Tou  see  yourself  it  had  been  shattered,  and 
had  not  an  interest  to  bind  it  again  together.  I  could 
not  settle  down  to  quiet  charities,  to  little  patriotic 
sacrifices  ;  I  could  not  busy  myself  reading  or  study- 
ing, for  to  what  end  should  I  study  ?  My  life  had,  in- 
deed, been  "  broken  at  the  fountain,"  broken  when  it 
was  so  young,  so  hopeful,  it  seemed  to  itself  hardly  to 
have  sprung  into  being. 

Kate,  on  the  contrary,  was  full  of  animation ;  she 
was  president  of  half  a  dozen  benevolent  institutions, 
and  yet  had  always  time  to  spare  for  amusement. 
Captain  Lewis  was  now  resting  under  the  shadow  of 
her  wings ;  and  his  very  evident  fear  of  her  struck 
me  very  comically.  It  made  one  little  change  in  my 
sad  life,  watching  the  progress  of  this  little  comedy, 
pretty  sure  to  end,  as  comedies  should,  in  speedy  mar- 
riage. 

"Do  you  know  that  Captain  Lewis,  the  odious 
man,  is  positively  going  off  to-morrow  ?  "  Kate  said  to 


276  AT  anchor: 

me  the  evening  after  Gilbert's  visit.  "  It  is  just  too 
aggravating  for  any  thing  in  this  world,  just  as  we 
were  getting  on  so  nicely !  I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
cox's to-night,  a  sort  of  God-speed  party  to  the  officers 
here, — that  is,  if  I  ever  get  dressed.  INIi'S.  Martin  has 
been  holding  me,  after  the  manner  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner,  until  my  patience  is  quite  exhausted.  Will 
you  help  me  ? — do  dress  my  hair  for  me ;  I  look  like  a 
different  person  after  I  have  been  through  your  hands. 
Will  you  ? — that  is  a  darling.  Here  ! "  She  threw  me 
a  wraj^per.    "  Hurry  now,  and  do  me  up  pretty." 

"  Captain  Lewis  is  not  half  good  enough  for  you," 
I  said,  taking  down  her  hair. 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  is,"  she  answered ;  "  we  are 
not  exjDected  to  marry  men  half  good  enough  for  us. 
I  expect  to  marry  because  I  don't  want  to  be  an  old 
maid,  and  because  I  want  a  home  of  my  own.  I  shall 
be  quite  contented  if  my  husband  hasn't  any  very 
serious  faults,  and  for  the  rest  I  mean  to  educate  him 
up  to  me." 

"  But  you  know,  Kate,  this  home  is  as  much  yours 
as  mine ;  more  yours,  for  my  lamp  of  life  has  gone 
out,  and  I  want  only  a  dark  comer;  the  rest  is  all 
yours." 

"  Oh !  I  know  you  and  Uncle  Yane  are  kindness  it- 
self, but  no  woman  likes  to  sit  at  the  side  of  any  man's 
table.  How  natural  you  look  in  that  cashmere.  I 
never  saw  any  woman  but  you  who  looked  well  in 


A   STOEY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  277 

bright  colors.  I  expect  to  have  a  lovely  time  to-night. 
I  am  just  as  fond  of  good  times  as  I  was  ten  years 
ago.  What  times  we  used  to  have  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber Emma  Lewis,  Mary  Allen,  Florence  Graham,  and 
the  rest  ?  Do  you  remember  the  summer  they  were 
here,  just  before  Mr.  Aberthnay  went  away  ?  I  think 
that  was  about  the  most  delightful  summer  we  ever 
had.  I  did  like  Mr.  Aberthnay  so  much !  I  had  a 
splendid  talk  with  him  once.  Shall  I  tell  you  about 
it?" 

"Yes,  do." 

"  It  was  just  before  he  went  away.  Florence,  you 
know,  was  just  wild  about  him,  and,  it  seems,  she  told 
him  you  had  told  her  you  were  engaged  to  Mr.  Stuart 
Gilbert,  you  know, — or  what  amounted  to  the  same 
thing.  He  let  it  out  to  me,  or,  at  least,  I  drew  it  out 
of  him,  for  I  knew  he  was  loving  you  beyond  all 
bounds.  I  did  think  then  that  you  liked  him,  and  I 
was,  myself,  half  in  love  with  Gilbert  Stuart, — just  a 
girl's  fancy,  you  know;  and  so  I  up  and  down  denied 
it,  and  just  let  him  see  what  Florence  was  up  to;  then 
we  talked  about  you.  He  said  he  knew  you  were  not 
happy,  and  he  asked  me  to  be  especially  kind  to  you ; 
and  if  anything  happened  to  you,  to  write  and  let  him 
know,  without  your  knowledge  ;  he  did  care  so  much 
for  you ! " 

"  Did  you  ever  write  him  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  not,  what  need  ?  " 


278  AT   AXCHOR. 

"  Sure  enough,  what  need  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life  when  I 
heard  you  were  engaged  to  him.  I  don't  think  any 
man  ever  loved  a  woman  as  much  as  he  did  you,  even 
then.  Do  you  know,  he  actually  made  me  promise  not 
to  tell  you ;  he  was  sure  you  did  not  care  for  him,  and 
said  it  would  only  be  additional  pain  to  you  to  know 
about  it." 

"  Poor  Carl !  " 

"  There  was  never  a  man  like  him.  Xo  one  can 
wonder,  Georgie,  that  your  life  seems  broken.  But  do 
not  let  us  talk  about  it.  I  like  to  look  up  in  the  glass 
and  see  you  look  like  old  times ;  and  now  that  your 
hair  is  tumbling  down  you  are  my  Georgie  of  ten 
years  ago.  Do  you  know,  Uncle  Tom  has  never  got 
over  that  surprise  yet.  Every  little  while  he  says  to 
me, '  Wasn't  it  a  surprise,  Kate  ?— just  as  if  she  hadn't 
been  a  week  away !  But  I'll  be  even  with  her, — I'll 
be  even  with  her.' " 

"  Uncle  ought  to  be  home  soon."  He  was  in  New 
York.  "  We  two  women  are  not  much  of  a  house- 
hold." 

"  Not  much.     Do  you  know  about  David  ?  " 

"No;  what?" 

"  He  is  going  down  to  the  army  as  officer's  ser- 
vant, if  you  will  let  him ;  he  expects  to  send  you  his 
wases !  You  can't  beat  freedom  into  that  that  'child's' 
head.     But  you  will  have  to  braid  faster  than  that  if 


A   STORY   OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  2*79 

you  expect  to  get  through  to-night.  It  looks  well, 
doesn't  it  ?    I  wish  I  had  some  flowers." 

"  My  camelia  is  in  bloom ;  you  are  a  good  girl  and 
you  shall  have  it.     What  is  its  motto  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  why?" 

"  I  suppose  it  Avill  end  in  Captain  Lewis's  button- 
hole." 

"  Ar'n't  you  mean  ! " 

"  I  will  go  down  and  see  what  I  can  find  in  the 
conservatory,"  I  said;  "I  suppose  I  shall  not  meet 
any  one." 

I  pushed  my  hair  out  of  the  way,  and  the  old  habit 
sent  it  back  from  my  face  as  I  used  to  wear  it.  It  startled 
me  to  see  it  rippling  so  naturally  into  its  old  folds,  and 
sparkling  all  over  with  smUes  at  its  release.  I  wound 
it  in  a  hasty  coil,  and  hurried  down  stairs  to  get  the 
flowers  in  the  little  conservatory  beyond  the  parlor. 
Something, — the  change  of  dress,  perhaps,  or  the  back- 
ward rolls  of  my  hair, — remuided  me  of  that  other 
flight  down  the  same  long  staircase ;  something, — the 
same  angels  that  attended  me  then,  perhaps, — seemed 
to  promise  better  days  to  come,  peace  and  that  soul- 
comfort  and  calm  which  is  the  crown  sooner  or  later 
given  of  all  grief. 

I  pushed  open  the  parlor  door,  and  there,  leaning 
against  my  piano,  stood  Gilbert  Stuart  awaiting  me. 

"  I  am  losing  my  senses,"  I  said  to  myself;  "  or  is 
all  this  a  dream  ?  and  am  I  Georgie  Yane,  just  called 


280  AT  axchoe: 

from  the  dressing-room?  and  are  the  girls  still  there? 
for  sui'ely  he  is  here." 

I  held  out  my  hands ;  I  hardly  know  if  in  welcome 
or  to  push  away  that  figure.  They  were  closely 
grasped,  and  a  voice  cried,  "  Georgie !  Georgie  !  " — 
that  voice  that  could  insi^ire  or  terrify  whole  regi- 
ments, and  would  melt  the  hardest  heart. 

"Georgie!  Georgie!" 

"  Is  this  real  ?  "  I  asked,  like  one  in  a  maze ;  "  is  to- 
night that  other  night  when  I  met  you  here  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  that  other  night,"  he  answered ;  "  that 
was  a  night  that  I  have  expiated  by  long,  long  years 
of  bitter  pain.  I  fell  once  from  my  strength,  and 
faith,  and  honor." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  said,  drawing  back  a  little ;  "  she 
told  me." 

"  She  told  you,  too,  that  I  was  free  ? " 

"  She  told  me." 

"  Oh !  if  she  could  have  told  you  how  I  fought 
against  her  influence, — how  bitterly  I  have  repented 
the  folly  that  bound  me  to  her,  and  put  that  gulf  be- 
tween us,  between  you  and  me,  Georgie.  I  cannot 
tell  you  that  I  love  you ;  I  have  told  her  that ;  and 
words  that  any  other  woman  has  heard,  are  not  words 
to  say  to  you.  Tou  know  what  I  would  say  to  you ; 
what  burned  on  my  lips  last  night,  but  which  your 
constrained  manner  and  sombre  dress  forbade  me  to 
say.     Georgie,  give  me  the  words  I  lack ;  tell  me  in 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  281 

what  manner  I  may  speak  to  you  of  the  love  that  has 
been  my  life,  my  joy,  and  my  agony  for  years,  and 
years,  and  years." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  I  said. 

"  You  know ;  it  is  only  a  heart  like  yours  that  can 
know." 

"  Let  me  think,"  I  said. 

"  N'o,  no,  do  not  think ;  I  have  waited  for  this  day, 
— waited  when  there  was  no  hope  that  it  would  ever 
come.  Once  I  came  here  to  implore  you,  on  my  knees, 
to  forgive  me, — to  wait,  to  let  me  explain,  to  give  me 
a  word  that  would  make  me  strong  enough  to  burst 
my  bonds,  were  they  ten  times  as  binding.  I  have 
waited ;  I  can  wait  no  longer ;  you  risked  your  life  for 
me  in  Charleston;  you  risked  still  more  for  me  in 
Richmond.  Yes,  I  know ;  Kate  told  me  where  you 
lived  there :  it  was  easy  guessing  then ;  but  I  want 
more.  Georgie,  I  must  hear  those  words,  those  blessed 
words :  will  you  not  speak  ?  Oh !  I  deserve  forgive- 
ness since  I  alone  have  suffered." 

*'  You — alone — suffered  ?  " 

"I  alone, — mine  the  fault,  mine  the  expiation. 
Have  I  not  expiated  it  ?  Oh !  that  for  one  hour  it  were 
given  to  me  to  speak  as  I  would  speak, — for  one  hour 
that  I  could  find  words  to  tell  what  thoughts  have 
been  mine  when  death  was  on  every  side,  and  cut 
down  men  like  grass,  and  shunned  my  prayers,  laugh- 
ed at  my  entreaties,  and  passed  me  by,  when  I  so 


282  AT  A25-CHOR: 

longed  for  him ! — ^but  for  one  hour  that  I  could  find 
expression  for  that  self-reproach,  greater  than  any 
rage,  which  has  had  triple  revenge  on  me  for  my  sin  ! 
Georgie,  speak  one  word  to  me,  and  I  shall  forget  all 
my  past  misery." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  ought  to  say." 

*'Do  not  mar  this  blessed  day  with  doubts  and 
fears.  Ton  have  had  your  sorrows, — mine  no  words 
can  tell.  Let  us  join  hands  to-night,  and  sorrow  will 
be  forgotten  forevermore.  I  dare  not  say  what  I  will 
strive  to  be  to  you.  I  fear  not  to  promise  any  thing, 
for  whatever  you  would  wish  me  to  be,  that  your  wish 
will  make  me.  If  you  will  but  say  the  word,  Georgie, 
you  stretch  before  my  feet  a  life  of  joy,  and  good, 
and  glory ;  there  is  no  path  I  could  not  tread  if  that 
path  led  to  you.  There  is  nothing  I  might  not  be,  if 
you  willed  me  so  to  be.  Will  you  throw  away  my 
life  ?  TViU  you  throw  away  my  future,  and  trample 
upon  my  past  ?  I  hold  all  that  I  am,  or  hope  to  be,  or 
aspire  to  do,  in  my  hand ;  one  word  decides  it." 

"  I  implore  you,  spare  me." 

"  I  will  not  spare  you.  This  thing  shall  be.  Is 
my  life  nothing  ? — is  my  soul  nothiug,  my  will  not  to 
be  counted  ?  I  will  never  let  you  rest.  I  will  follow 
you  night  and  day.  I  will  love  you  till  love  becomes 
madness  ;  and  while  there  is  breath  within  me  I  will 
breathe  for  you,  and  raise  my  voice  in  supplications. 
You  are   drawing   farther  away?     I  frighten  you? 


A   STOEY    OF    OUK   CIYIL   WAE.  283 

Darling,  darling  Georgie,  whom  I  love  with  such  love 
as  man  never  gave  before,  speak  to  me  as  I  would 
haA'e  you  speak,  and  you  shall  never  again  hear  my 
voice.but  in  tenderest  tones, — never  hear  a  word  from 
me  but  of  unalterable  devotion ;  but,  Georgie,  you 
must  speak  that  word.  What  would  you  say  if  I 
gave  way  at  the  first  fire  of  the  enemy  ?  Shall  I  give 
up  now,  when  I  fight  for  more  than  life,  or  land,  or 
crovernment? — when  I  fis^ht  for  heaven  here  and 
heaven  hereafter.      Will  you  speak,  Georgie  ?  " 

"  I  loved  you  once,  I  know,  with  a  love  strong  as 
your  own.     You  threw  aside  that  love." 

"  I  did,  I  did ;  for  one  hour  I  was  another  man.  I 
threw  away  a  pearl  beyond  price ;  but  myself  again, 
I  will  have  back  that  pearl.  I  will  seek  it  early  and 
late ;  nor  will  I  rest  until  it  is  mine.  ISTo,  Georgie,  I 
will  yield, — I  will  go  out  into  pain  and  utter  deso- 
lation, if  you  say  so.  I  have  pained  you  enough. 
K  I  can  control  myself  I  will  plead  no  longer ;  just  as 
we  stand  fronting  the  battle-line,  waiting  victory  or 
death,  I  will  try  to  stand." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  still ;  he  was  pale  as 
death  itself,  and  it  seemed  as  if  every  nerve  was 
strained  to  j^reserve  the  silence  and  outward  calm  he 
had  promised.  At  my  feet  lay  the  love  I  had  worn 
out  half  my  soul  longing  for ;  yet,  now  that  it  was 
mine,  I  was  slow  to  take  it.  I  knew  not  what  answer 
to  make ;  my  soul  was  stirred  and  surged  tumultuously 


284  AT  anchor: 

within  me.  "  Pray  God  give  me  a  sign,"  was  my 
only  distinct  thought.  I  looked  to  him,  wondering  if 
I  would  dare  lay  my  hand  on  the  great  waves  of  his 
heart,  and  say  "  Be  still !  "  lie  watched  me ;  and  see- 
ing that  my  lips  stammered,  he  was  satisfied.  With 
one  long  breath  of  relief,  he  came  slowly  toward  me. 

"My  God  !  this  is  joy !  "  he  said,  and  would  have 
put  on  my  hand  Gertrude's  ring,  and  bent  as  if  to  kiss 
me.  God  had  given  me  the  sign, — all  was  clear  enough 
then.  "  Xo,"  I  said,  "  I  am  married.  I  am  Carlton  Ab- 
erthnay's  wife  in  life  and  in  death.  Dare  not  touch  me. 
I  see  it  now.  The  grave  does  not  break  the  man-iage 
vow.  I  would  not  dare  meet  him  in  heaven  if  I  listened 
to  one  word  more  from  you.  Do  you  hear?  You 
speak,  if  you  speak  at  all,  to  a  married  woman, — no 
more  to  Georgie  Yane." 

He  staggered  back. 

"Many  sins  have  I  committed,"  I  said;  "but  I 
shall  not  add  this  one.  From  my  heart  I  pity  you. 
God  may  perhaps  forgive  me  that  I  let  it  come  to  this. 
Carl  may  pardon  that  I  have  heard  words  his  wife 
should  not  hear.  Will  you  forgive  me  for  the  pain  to 
you?" 

"  I  will  not,"  he  repeated ;  "  I  will  never  forgive 
you." 

"You  shall  forgive  me,  Gilbert  Stuart;  you  shall 
pray  me  for  forgiveness  !  Do  you  remember  for  how 
many  years  you  followed  my  every  step,  and  wound 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CITIL   WAR.  285 

yourself  into  my  every  thought  ?  Do  you  remember 
how  freely,  how  trustfully,  how  unaskingly  I  poured 
out  my  love  for  you,  and  you  took  it  ?  Do  you  re- 
member when  I  flew  down  those  stairs  to  meet  you, 
with  my  heart  and  soul  all  yours,  that  you  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  in  cold  blood  stabbed  me  to  the 
heart?  Do  you  remember  how  you  followed  me, 
wounded,  bleeding  as  I  was,  and  widened  and  deepened 
my  wounds  ?  Do  you  remember  that  you  plunged 
the  iron  into  my  soul  to  grind  down  my  life  and  his — 
my  noble  husband's?  Do  you  think  these  things 
weigh  with  me  ?  Their  bitterness  has  passed.  In  one 
moment  I  see  the  folly  and  wrong  of  a  life  that  owes 
you  nothing  now.  That  one  moment's  revelation  is 
worth  all  that  you  have  made  me  suffer. 

'  The  flash  that  hghteth  up  a  valley  amid  the  dark  midnight  of  a 
storm, 
Coiaeth  the  mind  with  that  scene  sharper  than  fifty  simimers.' 

I  thank  you  for  that  flash,  Gilbert  Stuart,  for  it  gives 
me  back  my  husband's  love ;  it  gives  mine  to  him ; 
it  gives  me  his  memory,  and  the  hope  that  one  day  I 
maybe  worthy  to  meet  him  in  perfect  love  and  perfect 
understanding." 

"  I  only  bide  my  time,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  door. 

"  You  will  never  speak  of  love  to  me  again,"  I 
said.     "  You  dare  not.     And  now,  good-night." 

"  I  believe  that  you  love  me,"  he  said ;  "  and  this 
farewell  is  not  final." 


286  AT   AlfCHOB. 

"  Final  or  not  matters  little  to  me,"  I  answered. 
'"  But  tliis  does  matter,  that  you  should  know  that  I  do 
not  love  you.  It  is  true  that  the  belief  that  I  loved 
you  grew  with  my  growth,  and  became  almost  a  part 
of  me.  The  force  of  habit  is  great  with  all ;  it  was  like 
iron  chains  on  me ;  when  I  met  you  at  intervals,  you 
pieced  and  strengthened  the  links  that  were  wearing 
away.  That  I  thought  I  loved  you  was  a  bui'den  upon 
me  under  which  another,  a  better  and  higher  love,  I 
can  see  now,  was  living  and  struggling  to  the  light. 
I  thank  God  that  to-night  that  burden  is  thrown  aside, 
and  that  love  is  free,  and  I  am  free.  I  thank  God  that 
the  memory  of  my  husband's  virtue,  and  the  hope  that 
he  may  claim  me  in  heaven,  are  stronger  and  dearer 
than  any  love,  pride,  or  fame  this  world  can  offer.  I 
thank  him  that  my  storm-tossed  life  is  at  last  at  anchor. 
My  heart,  vrith  all  its  joy,  aches  for  you ;  but  I  believe 
you  will  live  to  smile  a  painless  smile  upon  to-night 
and  on  me." 

"  There  is  no  anchor  for  me,"  he  replied  bitterly, 
turning  to  go ;  "  for  the  rest  of  my  life  I  drift." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

As  Gilbert  reached  the  door  my  Uncle  Tom  met 
and  arrested  him. 

"  ]^o  one  here  ?  "  exclaimed  my  uncle.  "  This  is 
polite  treatment.  Oh,  there  is  Georgie.  Well,  young 
lady,  what  has  happened  now  ?  Looks  quite  like  her- 
self, doesn't  she,  Stuart  ?  Come  back,  come  back,  my 
dear  fellow  ;  no  running  off  hke  that.  I  have  just  this 
moment  made  my  appearance  after  a  week's  absence. 
I  deserve  a  warmer  welcome.  IVIrs.  Glynn's  eyes 
promised  something  better.  Come  in,  Stuart.  How 
well  you  look.  Madam !  Just  stay  that  way,  if  you 
please.  All  the  paraphernalia  of  mourning  shuts  you 
up  from  me,  so  that  I  hardly  know  my  Georgie.  We 
shall  have  her  blithe  as  a  lark,  now  she  is  home  again, 
shan't  we,  Stuart  ?  And  then,  if  Major  Aberthnay 
turns  out  alive  and  commander-in-chief,  he  will  still 
find  a  beauty  for  his  wife." 

"  How  can  you  jest  on  that,  uncle  ?  "  I  said.  Be- 
fore he  could  answer,  there  wafe  a  terrific  rustle  of  silk, 


288  AT  anchor: 

and  Kate  and  Captain  Lewis  appeared  at  the  door 
•through  which  Mr.  Stuart  was  trying  to  escape. 

"You  are  a  great  flower-girl,"  Kate  exclaimed, 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  I  answered,  "  but  not  too  late." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  returned  ;  "  I  have  plenty  now. 
How  do  you  do.  Uncle  Vane  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  well  I  thank  you,  Au7it  Kate.  Where 
are  you  going  without  my  mighty  permission  ?  You 
will  just  please  to  wait  for  supper,  you  and  Captain 
Lewis.  I  am  going  to  have  something  good  for  sup- 
per." 

"  Can  you  wait  ?  "  Kate  asked  the  captain. 

"  Can  he  wait ! "  echoed  Uncle  Tom.  "  Will  you 
wait  for  supper  f  Oh,  what  a  question  to  ask  an  army 
officer ! " 

Kate  made  a  comical  face,  which,  however,  did  not 
suit  her  as  well  as  the  same  contortions  did  when  she 
was  a  few  years  younger.  Kate  had  grown  very  fair  and 
stately  in  the  few  years  past.  The  dresses  that  looked 
cumbrous  upon  her  at  eighteen,  now  swept  gracefully 
around  her,  and  suited  her  face  that  had  grown  wo- 
manly, resolute,  and  self-confident.  You  may  imagine 
her  standing  in  the  doorway,  in  her  favorite  russet- 
brown  silk,  rich  and  heavy ;  her  long,  sweeping  white 
cloak;  flowers  that  Captain  Lewis  had  brought^  in 
her  hair  and  in  her  dress,  and  a  magnificent  bouquet 
in  her  hand.     I  don't  know  that  Gilbert  was  struck 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  289 

with  her  beauty,  but  I  think  he  noticed  the  amplitude 
of  her  skirts  that  eflfectually  cut  off  his  retreat,  as  she 
stood  there  with  Captain  Lewis,  not  over-pleased  at 
the  detention. 

"  I  giye  you  ten  minutes  to  dress,"  Uncle  Tom  said 
to  me.     "  DorCt  change  that  dress." 

I  left  the  parlor  by  a  door  that  led  into  our  sitting- 
room.  Some  one  spoke ;  there  was  a  figure  there;  Carl's, 
or  his  spirit. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  could  com- 
mand my  voice,  "  that  any  evil  thing  would  be  per- 
mitted to  take  your  form,  my  husband.  It  seems  a  fit 
ending  to  the  tumult  of  to-night  that  your  spirit  should 
come,  not  to  reproach  me,  surely,  but  to  let  me  say 
that,  at  last,  I  am  yours, — all,  all  yours, — and  that  I 
live  to  meet  you  in  heaven." 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Georgie,"  the  figure  said,  ap- 
proaching me.  "  I  am  not  a  spirit ;  I  am  your  real, 
living  husband,  if  you  will  own  me.  These  are  no 
spirit  arms  that  hold  you,  darling." 

"  My  Carl !  I  am  surely  dreaming,  or  my  senses 
have  given  way ;  but  it  is  a  delirium  so  sweet  I  would 
never  be  sane  again!  Yes,  darling  Carl,  hold  me 
tighter ! — speak  fast,  faster,  that  I  may  know.  Do  not 
speak,  for  fear  it  may  not  be  you.  This  is  too  much 
joy  for  reality.  I  loved  you  all  that  time,  but  I  was 
not  sure  I  did.  I  love  you  now  so  much  that  if  I 
awake  from  this  dream  I  shall  die." 
13 


290  AT  anchor: 

"  You  shall  not  awake,  Georgie,  darling,  pet 
Georgie.  It  is  reality  at  last.  You  know  how  often 
these  false  reports  of  death  in  battle  come.  I  did 
nothing  to  contradict  that  of  mine,  as  I  shall  tell  you 
by  and  by.  Do  you  question  still,  my  own,  own 
wife  ?  To  think  this  joy  was  waiting  for  me  !  This 
love  ready  for  me  !     It  is  I  who  seem  to  dream  !  " 

"Keep  talking,  Carl,  for  then  it  seems  as  if  it 
might  be.  Worse  than  any  death  or  desolation  it 
would  be  if  you  should  slip  from  my  arms  now.  Oh  ! 
a  thousand  tunes  I  have  clung  to  you  as  now ;  a  thou- 
sand times  your  kisses  have  rained  on  me  as  now ;  and 
in  stronger  words  than  I  can  speak  I  have  told  you  of 
the  bitter  mistake  I  made,  implored  your  forgiveness, 
and  felt  myself  forgiven  as  you  forgive  me  now,  dar- 
ling ;  and  with  your  words  yet  in  my  ears,  I  have  open- 
ed my  eyes,  and  you  were  not  there.  Can  it  be  so 
now  ?  " 

"  'No,  pet, — no,  no ;  this  is  no  dream  for  either  of 
us  !  Joy,  joy,  life,  reality,  are  with  us  as  they  never 
were  before !  Exultation  and  joy,  for  I  live  and  you 
love  me ! " 

"  And  you — I  have  not  lost  your — " 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  Xever,  darling,  waking  or  di*eam- 
ing,  my  Georgie,  dare  to  question  the  love  that  is 
yours  ;  that  the  grave  cannot  take  away,  that  all  life 
lives  to  prove  and  to  increase !  Are  you  satisfied  yet 
that  I  ami?" 


A   STOKY    OF    OIJIl   CIVIL   AVAR.  291 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  if  this  is  a  dream  that  I  shall 
not  live  if  I  awake  ;  and  so  I  believe." 

"  The  strangest  thing,"  I  said,  vrhen,  long  after- 
wards, I  found  more  rational  thoughts,  "  is  that  the 
first  surprise  over,  it  does  not  seem  strange  to  have 
you  here.  How  often  have  I  caught  myself  starting 
at  the  sound  of  a  voice,  or  even  the  ringing  of  the 
door-bell !  How  often  has  my  heart  bounded  at  a  face 
or  figure  in  a  crowd  or  in  the  street,  and  then  sunk 
back  in  sickening  knowledge  that  you  were  counted 
dead.  I  would  teU  myself  of  that,  and  yet,— Tenny- 
son has  the  same  thought  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
parts  of  his  Iii  Memoriam.  I  used  to  think  I  should 
not  be  surprised  to  meet  you  anywhere,  and,  as  Ten- 
nyson says : 

"  '  And  if  along  with  these  should  come 
The  man  I  held  as  half  divine ; 
Should  strike  a  sudden  hand  in  mine 
And  ask  a  thousand  things  of  home ; 

"  ♦  And  I  should  tell  him  all  my  pain, 

And  how  my  life  had  drooped  of  late, 
And  he  would  sorrow  o'er  my  state. 
And  marvel  what  possessed  my  brain ; 

"  *  And  I  perceive  no  touch  of  change, 
No  hint  of  death  in  all  his  frame. 
But  found  him  all  in  all  the  same, 
I  should  not  feel  it  to  be  strange,'  " 


292  AT  ANCHOR  : 

"And  yet,  my  darling  Georgie,  the  struggle  be- 
tween your  soul's  recognition  of  the  truth  and  your 
fears  to  trust  its  voice,  not  an  houi'  ago,  almost  fright- 
ened me,  and  I  trembled  lest  at  the  very  moment  I 
had  found  not  only  my  Georgie  but  my  Georgie's 
heart,  I  had  lost  both.  I  was  greatly  against  the 
surimse ;  but  IVIr.  Yane  had  set  his  heart  on  doing  it 
just  so,  and  was  inxorable.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I 
suffered  as,  absolutely  forbidden  to  seek  you,  I  waited 
for  you  to  come.  I  listened,  I  heard  all  their  voices, 
I  waited,  I  strained  my  ears,  I  ached  to  hear  yours, 
but  you  did  not — I  know  you  did  not — speak,  I  could 
not  have  lost  the  faintest  sound  of  your  voice,  until 
after  your  uncle  spoke  of  me.  Then,  w^hen  I  did  hear 
it,  I  seemed  paralyzed  with  mingled  emotions.  Had 
you  been  one  moment  later  I  should  have  recovered, 
and,  unable  longer  to  wait,  gone  to  you.  You  looked 
like  a  sj)irit  as  you  came  in,  Georgie." 

"  Well  I  might,  for  I  had  come  from  the  crowning 
battle  of  a  ten  years'  war,— a  crowning  battle  that 
was  a  victory.  It  was  the  battle  of  mind  over  matter, 
and  mind  won  the  victory." 

"What  was  the  war?" 

"  Kot  now ;  do  not  ask  me  now.  Some  day  I  shall 
have  a  story  to  tell  you  of  an  old  habit  that  I  clung 
to  perversely,  that  I  conquered  not  two  hours  ago. 
There  is  nothing  now,  my  Carl,  to  come  between  us. 
Oh !  that  I  could  bring  back  the  days  in  which  you 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  293 

plead  so  hard,  that  I  might  give  them  undying  love,  as 
I  do  these ! " 

"  No,  we  will  not  call  them  back ;  they  were  dear, 
blessed  days,  because  they  prepared  the  way  for  this. 
Do  you  know,  Georgie,  that  for  all  the  years  your  face 
was  set  against  me,  for  all  the  grief  I  have  had  that 
it  was  so ;  for  all  my  passionate  pleadings,  and  for  all 
my  pain,  it  seems  as  if  I  had  always  seen  you  and  held 
you  as  I  do  now,  my  own  loving  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Carl ;  for  I  think  my  heart  was  yours  all 
that  time.  It  should  have  been.  I  know  it  was.  I 
was  like  a  lost  spirit  when  you  were  gone ;  there  was 
no  rest,  no  peace,  no  anchor  for  me.  I  tried  to  think 
other  things  were  the  cause  of  my  unrest,  but  they 
were  not.  Oh  !  I  have  a  long  story  to  tell  you  of  my 
life  after  you  left.  And  you, — when  will  you  tell  me 
of  yours,  and  of  your  coming  here  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  long  story,  and  must  be  heard  and  told  at 
our  leisure.     Who  are  in  there  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Tom,  Kate,  Captain  Lewis,  and  Captain 
Stuart." 

"  Our  old  friend  Gilbert  ?  I  suppose  we  must  go 
to  them." 

"I  have  to  dress.  Uncle  Tom  gave  me  ten  minutes 
to  dress.  Kate  is  going  to  a  party  after  supper,  I 
suppose  she  is  inwardly  fretting  at  this  delay.  I  ran 
down  to  the  parlor  to  get  her  some  flowers  and  was 
caught,  and  have  not  had  time  to  dress  since.  My 
hair  is  in  a  great  state." 


294  AT  ANCHOE. 

"  You  don't  go  out  of  my  sight  for  anybody  or  any 
thing.  Roll  up  your  hair  and  come.  Rebellious  al- 
ready ?  I  will  be  youi'  hair-dresser.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  have  seen  these  bright  rolls,  Georgie." 

"  What  Avill  you  do  when  they  are  thin  and  gray  ?" 

"  You  know.  Wicked  Georgie  for  asking  sucli  a 
question  !  Xow,  come  ;  Uncle  Tom  has  told  them  all, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"What  do  you  call 'all'?" 

"  The  little  fact  of  my  existence,  which  is  about  the 
smallest  part  of  all." 

"Perhaps!" 

It  was  evident  Uncle  Tom  had  contrived  to  interest 
them  in  a  long  story  of  the  great  event,  for  he  was  still 
talking  when  we  entered  the  room.  Kate  sprang  for- 
ward to  meet  us,  and  Gilbert  Stuart  took  advantage 
of  her  movement  to  make  good  his  escape. 

"  This,"  I  heard  Captain  Lewis  say  to  Kate  on  the 
way  to  supper,  "  this  beats  all  the  houses  I  ever  saw 
for  surprises.     It  wifl  be  our  turn  next." 

"  I  owed  you  one,  eh  Georgie,  didn't  I,  old  lady?" 
said  Uncle  Tom,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  am  even  with 
you." 

"  Ahead  of  me,  uncle  ;  I  shall  never  dispute  your 
success." 

"  You're  welcome  home,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Glynn,  as 
v/e  entered  the  supper-room. 

At  which  we  all  saluted  Carl  with  a  laugh.  I  think 
my  Uncle  Tom  put  her  up  to  it. 


CHAPTER  xxym. 

"  Now,"  I  said,  when  Kate  and  the  captain  had 
eaten  their  supper  and  gone,  "  I  want  yonr  story  from 
title-page  to  finis.  I  suppose  we  have  dragged  out 
the  greater  part  of  it  by  our  questions  during  the  last 
half  hour,  hut  I  want  it  altogether." 

"  It  isn't  possible,"  cried  my  Uncle  Tom,  "  that  you 
are  going  to  tell  that  story  again  ?  It  is  no  less  than 
fifteen  and  a  half  times  I  have  heard  it  already  !  He 
was  button-holed,  Georgie,  at  every  step  in  ISTew  York, 
and  in  the  cars  coming  on  it  was  just  fearful.  How  is 
it  there  are  always  some  people  everywhere  ever 
ready  with  information  about  everybody,  who  never 
fail  to  find  you  out  under  fifty  disguises?  No- 
body could  question  for  an  instant  that  our  young 
man  there  was  an  officer ;  that  knowledge  of  itself  is 
about  as  much  as  most  men  need  to  start  examina- 
tions and  cross-examinations." 

"  Once  it  was  my  own  fault,"  said  Carl. 

"  How  was  that,"  I  asked. 

"  A  young  sprig  in  a  new  uniform,"  answered  my 


296  AT  AXCHOE  : 

uncle,  "  who  had  evidently  yet  to  hear  the  first  sound 
of  an  enemy's  gun,  was  giving  forth  his  mighty  opinions 
about  the  great  contest.  '  The  South  couldn't  keep  it 
up  much  longer,' he  said;  *  they  were  a  half-starved 
set  of  poor  devils  at  the  best ;  it  wasn't  any  thing  to 
whip  them.  As  for  their  leaders,  there  wasn't  an 
officer  fit  to  command  a  resriment  of  our  men  among: 
them.'  Our  young  KaxJoUon^  I  was  going  to  say,  but 
the  name  is  already  appropriated,  so  I  will  call  our 
young  sprig  only  a  hero,  was  as  hard  upon  the  aboli- 
tionists as  upon  the  secessionists,  didn't  think  the 
negroes  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  war, — and,  you 
can  guess,  the  usual  rigmarole.  I  saw  that  Carl  was 
blazing;  I  was  only  very  much  amused,  and  quite 
undisturbed  by  the  sledge-hammer  of  criticism  with 
which  our  hero  came  down  upon  everybody  and 
every  thing, — Generals,  Congressmen,  West  Point, 
and  I  cannot  tell  what  all.  Poor  fellow  !  six  months 
later  how  he  would  blush  for  his  arrogance  !  '  You 
are  in  the  army,  I  should  judge,'  a  gentleman  said, 
turning  around  to  Carl,  '  how  do  these  things  please 
the  soldiers  ? '  Carl  had  his  text,  and  he  came  down 
with  a  whole  charge." 

"  I  was  very  sorry  for  it  afterwards,"  said  Carl, 
"  for  the  little  fellow  liked  his  brief  hour  of  lionizing, 
and  it  was  too  bad  to  interrupt  it ;  but  I  came  North 
expecting  to  find  but  one  mind,  one  thought,  one  view 
of  the  rebellion,  and  my  enthusiasm  surprises  people 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  297 

as  much  as  the  rustic's  unrestrained  laughter  at  old 
stage-jokes.  I  am  still  on  the  invalid  corps,  so  excuse 
my  story,  Georgie,  if  it  lacks  hair-breadth  escapes  and 
thrilling  scenes.  I  cannot  go  through  the  story  of  the 
past  six  months,  although  in  the  simplest  words  and 
merely  in  outline,  without  feeling  intensely  the  old 
struggles.     I  am  not  much  at  telling  stories." 

"  People  generally  make  the  jpreface  after  the  tale 
is  told,"  I  suggested. 

"  You  must  know  then,"  Carl  continued,  "  that  I 
went  into  the  secession  movement  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  and  with  a  romantic  idea  of  liberty, 
tyrants,  and  '  down  ^ith  the  fierce  oppressor.'  As  the 
movement  grew  more  serious,  and  men  discussed  not 
only  its  expediency  but  its  right,  I  found  myself 
several  times  knocked  in  the  head  by  arguments  that 
left  their  mark.  I  was,  however,  heart  and  soul  in  the 
cause ;  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  believed  it  right, 
or,  perhaps,  as  we  are  all  human,  I  should  not  have  so 
readily  promised  Georgie,  who,  you  know,  Mr.  Yane, 
was  stout  for  the  Union,  that  if  I  ever  doubted  the 
right  of  the  Southern  cause  that  I  would  give  it 
up.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  of  my  battles  and 
heroic  achievements  at  present ;  I  was  asked  how 
I  came  here,  and  it  is  of  inward  struggles  I  have 
now  to  speak.  I  went  off  to  the  war,*  strong  and 
unshaken;  I  shut  my  eyes,  as  every  soldier  should, 
to  every  thing  but  the  right  of  the  cause  which 
13* 


298  AT  axchok: 

no  bad  leadership  however  much  it  may  injure  can 
ever  make  less  ric^ht.  But  as  I  was  thrown  amons* 
our  officers  and  soldiers,  I  was  forced  to  see,  and  to 
see  with  disgust,  to  how  many  low  and  base  motives 
appeals  were  made,  and  how  few,  how  very  few  were 
moved  by  sterling  principle.  But  there  "s^-^re  other 
men,  earnest  like  myself,  men  whose  souls  had  panted 
for  action  through  many  idle  years,  and  we  helped 
each  other's  doubting  faith.  I  do  not  believe  because 
others  scorned  to  own  to  any  lack  of  faith  that  they  did 
not  also  doubt.  After  awhile  it  became  my  place  to  be 
much  among  the  prisoners, — prisoners  of  both  sides. 
I  met  among  the  Union  prisoners,  officers  and  privates, 
men  of  intelligence,  culture,  understanding,  and  of 
thorough  worth ;  men  who  fully  and  clearly  saw  and 
knew  for  what  they  were  fighting.  They  spoke  of  us 
with  decision  in  regard  to  our  political  sins, — they 
never  minced  matters  about  these, — but  I  scarcely 
ever  heard  one  betray  any  vindictiveness,  bitterness, 
or  any  personal  animosity.  Considering  they  fought 
well,  believed  in  the  war,  and  intended  to  carry  it 
through,  and  were  influenced  in  their  opinions  by  no 
desire  for  our  good  wUl,  nor  fear  of  us,  I  liked  their 
mildness.  One  officer,  I  remember,  one  day  said  to 
me :  '  I  have  been  over  many  battle-fields,  and  have 
everywhere  ^een  stiaick  by  the  truly  noble  physique 
of  your  dead ;  it  is  hard  such  fine  fellows  must  go 
down  like  so  much  grass,  but  the  cause  of  the  nation 


A    STOKY    OF    OUK    CIVIL   AVAR.  299 

demands  it,  and  you  know  we  fight  you  just  as  hard 
as  though  we  had  not  a  thousand  times  rather  wel- 
come you  to  our  tables  in  thorough  good  fellowship. 
Are  you  brothers  or  barbarians  we  must  fight  you 
just  the  same,  so  long  as  you  rebel  against  our  govern- 
ment and  yours.  But  we  fight  ourselves,  almost,  in 
fighting  you ;  we  have  an  older  brother  sort  of  feeling 
toward  you ;  we  can't  judge  you  quite  as  severely  as 
if  you  were  not  a  wayward  younger  brother.  You 
will  never  believe  how  much  of  afiection  there  is  in 
our  feelings  toward  you.  Men  like  you.  Major,  can 
understand  it,  others  may  call  it  cowardice,  servility, 
or  some  other  unworthy  name ;  the  fact  remains  un- 
altered.' Our  own  soldiers  always  came  back  from 
the  Xorth  subdued  by  their  visits  to  the  strongholds 
of  the  nation ;  no  sneers,  no  contemptuous  remarks,  no 
insulting  names  for  them  as  they  went  sullen  and 
sulky  to  their  prisons.  I  have  known  of  very  many 
acts  of  real  kindness  and  consideration  from  the  Union 
guards  to  their  prisoners ;  sometimes  when  these  lat- 
ter have  been  tired,  worn,  sick  or  wounded,  perhaps, 
the  others  have  dismounted  from  their  horses  and  let 
their  prisoners  take  their  j^lace,  they  trudging  by  on 
foot.  But  mark  this — their  food,  their  horses,  their 
blankets,  they  might  share,  or  give,  but  never  liberty, 
or  an  acknowledgment  that  they  were  not  'rebels,' 
and  as  '  rebels '  fought  and  conquered.  This  is  the 
spirit  I  like ;  no  appeals  to  selfish  motives  or  ignoble 


300  AT  AXCHOE  : 

passions  to  fire  your  Northern  heart,  but  the  pure  love 
of  principle ;  no  weak  and  mistaken  mercy,  but  Roman- 
like justice.  These  things  I  saw,  and  each  in  its  own 
way  helped  on  the  work  of  my  conversion. 

"  I  was  slightly  wounded  during  the  winter, — I 
never  wrote  you  of  that,  Georgie ;  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  worry  you  about  so  small  an  affair.  I  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  even  under 
the  care  of  your  old  friend  Emma  Lewis;  who  had 
also,  she  told  me,  taken  care  of  Captain  Belton,  who 
regards  himself  as  one  of  your  converts.  He  proved 
himself  a  valuable  acquisition  to  the  Union  army." 
"  He  was  killed,  poor  fellow !  on  the  Peninsula." 
"Don't  say  ^^oor  felloio^  his  death  completed  a 
noble,  martyr-like  career.  Sister  Louisa  was  very 
reticent  and  demure ;  I  teased  and  tormented  her  in 
every  way  I  could  devise  to  make  her  talk  about  the 
war,  but  she  was  on  her  guard — it  was  not  for  a  Sister 
of  Chanty  to  speak.  One  day,  at  last,  I  roused  her. 
I  talked  against  the  Government;  made  fun  of  its 
ofiicers  until  grace  could  stand^no  more ;  Sister  Louisa 
colored  and  said :  *  All  the  ridicule  in  the  world,  all 
the  satire  of  Jimius,  cannot  make  our  Government  less 
a  Government  nor  your  rebellion  less  a  rebellion.'  It 
was  a  great  deal  to  have  drawn  from  a  Sister  of 
Charity,  but  the  old  Adam  was  strong  in  Emma  even 
then.  The  ice  once  broken  I  got  her  to  talk  seriously 
with  me ;  I  risked  nothing  in  opening  my  heart  to  a 


A   STORY    OF    OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  301 

recluse.  She  is  a  tough  little  Union  woman,  and  gave 
her  reasons  for  her  faith  with  a  will,  and  with  never  a 
waver  in  her  voice.  She  has  grown  a  splendid  wo- 
man, Emma  has,  and  I  owe  her  more  than  I  can  say. 
After  a  time  I  left  the  hospital  and  tossed  about  in 
various  ways,  and  worked  hard  to  keep  thoughts  out 
of  my  head,  and  to  show  myself  really  a  soldiel-.  I 
kept  from  thinking  moderately  well  until  I  was  again 
wounded  in  the  summer.  I  did  hope  I  might  die  then, 
and  be  spared  the  pain  of  decision,  which  is  the  pain 
always  ;  to  act  is  nothing.  I  found  it  hard  to  decide ; 
I  could  not  fight  against  my  convictions  and  my 
promise  to  Georgie,  and  it  was  hard  to  desert  the 
cause  I  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  embrace.  But  my 
convictions  and  my  health  would  not  give  way,  but 
struggled  on  to  strength.  I  could  not  die;  I  was 
forced  to  decide.  I  could  not  stay  longer  in  the  house 
of  the  kind  Southern  people,  who,  proud  to  have  a 
Southern  officer  in  the  house  with  them,  exerted  them- 
selves to  the  utmost  to  take  care  of  me,  and  were, 
indeed,  mothers  and  sisters  to  me ;  and  I  got  away 
from  them  as  soon  as  I  could,  resolved  if  I  had  to  live 
to  make  my  way  to  headquarters,  resign,  and  then  who 
could  tell  what  ?  I  had  hardly  clearly  made  up  my 
mind  in  this  respect,  than  I  was  taken  prisoner.  You 
can  imagine  my  rage  and  chagrin.  To  declare  myself 
an  unbeliever  in  secession,  to  give  up  my  commission 
after  having  been  a  prisoner,  admitted  of  too  many 


302  AT  anchor: 

suggestions  against  my  honor  for  me  to  think  of  it. 
In  this  painful  state  of  mind  I  was  taken  into  the 
Union  lines,  and  into  the  hands  of  some  officers  who 
treated  me  with  every  attention,  care,  and  kindness. 
I  was  very  much  exhausted,  so  much  so  that  they 
soon  expressed  their  fears  that  I  was  past  recovery.  I 
did  nothing  to  undeceive  them.  They  forced  me  to 
take  a  little  wine.  Every  thing  seemed  in  confusion, 
but  I  lay  quietly  and  without  motion,  while  orderlies 
came  and  went,  or  gathered  around  the  tent  door.  I 
gathered  scraps  of  their  conversation;  fortunately  it 
was  a  kind  that  did  me  good.  The  tents  were  near 
together,  and  as  the  evening  grew  quieter  I  could 
hear,  was  forced  to  hear  the  conversation  in  the  next 
tent  to  the  one  to  which  I  had  been  taken.  I  wish  I 
could  repeat  to  you  kind  words,  high-toned  sentiments, 
brave  energetic  thoughts  which  were  thrown  in  my 
way  that  night. 

"  For  some  reason  I  was  carried  farther  on,  or  in  a 
different  direction,  and,  I  think,  they  broke  up  camp, 
or  there  was  danger  of  an  attack,  for  two  men  were 
left  in  charge  of  me,  and  there  was  complete  silence 
around  me.  A  thunder-storm  came  up,  a  violent  one, 
and  at  every  burst  of  thunder  my  guard  started,  and 
muttered  something  meant,  perhaps,  for  a  prayer. 
They  did  their  duty  by  occasionally  pouring  down  my 
throat  a  few  drops  of  some  liquor  which  had  been  left 
for  me,  and  pouring  down  their  own  large  quantities 


A    STORY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  303 

of  the  same,  until,  as  will  sometimes  happen,  the  bottle 
showed  itself  to  be  empty.  One  of  the  men  expressed 
his  convictions  that  he  could  find  more  if  he  looked  in 
the  right  place,  and  with  his  bottle  under  his  overcoat 
started  on  the  quest,  leaving  his  companion  alone 
with  me.  This  man,  evidently,  did  not  relish  a  lonely 
watch,  a  dark  night,  a  thunder-storm,  a  dying  rebel, 
and  no  whiskey,  and  soon  moved  after  his  partner. 
'  Are  ye  alive  ?  "  he  said  to  me  before  leaving ;  '  poor 
fellow  !  I'm  loth  to  lave  ye,  but  I'm  afeard  somewhat's 
happened  to  Mike,  and  it's  our  duty  to  stand  by  each 
other ;  but  I'll  not  be  long  gone.' 

"  I  made  no  answer,  of  course,  and  off  he  went. 
The  rascal  left  his  overcoat,  into  which  I  put  myself, 
and,  forcing  my  strength  back,  I  got  out  of  the  tent. 
I  found  myself  unable  to  go  far,  but  found  a  hiding- 
place  so  near  at  hand  that,  to  speak  after  the  manner 
of  the  Hibernians,  it  was  beyond  suspicion.  The  men 
after  awhile  returned,  very  angry,  very  tipsy,  and  very 

much  scared.     'I  knew  the  divil  would  have  the 

rebel,'  said  one,  as  they  went  around  looking  for  me. 
'But  what  Avould  the  divil  want  of  me  overcoat?' 
asked  the  other.  'Maybe  the  ould  gintleman  don't 
like  the  climate,'  suggested  the  first.  '  Or  is  afeard 
of  the  draft,  maybe,'  added  the  second.  Talking  in 
this  way  they  passed  me,  and  aided,  perhaps,  by  a 
quantity  of  bills  I  had  forgotten  purposely,  they  de- 
cided to  give  up  the  search,  and  from  them  came  the 


304  AT  axchor: 

testimony,  I  suppose,  of  my  death.  I  am  sony  to 
have  such  things  to  record  of  Union  patriots ;  but  hu- 
man nature  is  human  nature,  you  know. 

"  I  got  to  a  small  hut  in  the  wood,  was  taken  in, 
gave  the  owners  some  money,  laid  down  on  the  floor, 
and  had  a  raging  fever.  They  took  such  care  as  they 
could  of  me,  and  as  I  was  not  destined  to  die,  I  lived. 
When  I  was  able  to  stir  I  got  back  to  the  South.  IN'o 
one  wondered  that  I  resigned,  for  I  was  completely 
smashed  up.  I  worked  along  slowly,  very  slowly  in- 
deed. You  were  gone  to  the  Xorth  I  supposed.  I 
made  no  inquiries  lest  I  should  interfere  with  your 
2)lans.  I  made  arrangements  to  follow  you ;  slow  ar- 
rangements, for  I  was  laid  up  every  few  days.  I  got 
through  the  lines  of  both  armies  ;  it  would  be  impru- 
dent, as  the  newspapers  say,  to  give  the  details. 

"  Resting  at  New  York  I  was  recognized  in  my 
olden  capacity  as  a  Southern  officer,  a  muss  was  made, 
and  I  was  arrested.  Xo  one  would  listen  to  me ;  time 
and  my  money  were  wearing  away;  but  believing 
every  day  must  be  the  last,  I  forbore  any  steps  for  my 
release  or  assistance.  However,  I  couldn't  expect  any 
thing  better,  and  tried  to  wait  with  resignation. 
Georgie  knows  why  I  did  not  send  word  to  her,  and 
was  even  half  doubtful,  sometimes,  of  how  she  would 
receive  me.  In  due  time  I  was  released,  ^"ithout  any 
questions  on  either  side,  and  then  was  I  mad !  If  I 
were  not  a  spy  they  had  no  right  to  arrest  me ;  if  I 


A   STORY   OF   OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  305 

were  a  spy  they  had  no  right  to  free  me ;  and  they 
knew  no  more  of  me  on  the  day  they  opened  my 
prison  doors  than  on  the  day  they  first  closed  them 
between  me  and  liberty.  I  went  to  Washington ;  I 
lost  time,  strength,  money,  and  temper,  but  gained 
no  satisfaction  nor  notice,  except  that  a  scamp  of  an 
editor  got  hold  of  my  name,  and  made  a  paragraph 
about  me.  Said  paragraph  came  to  the  notice  of 
somebody  who  knew  Mr.  Yane ;  who,  meeting  Mr. 
Yane  one  day,  questioned  him  of  me.  Exclamations 
and  explanations  followed.  Mr.  Yane  took  his  cane 
and  started  after  me.  He  came  in  good  time;  he 
owed  you  a  sm-prise,  he  said.  I  make  no  attempt  to 
tell  you  all  he  did  for  me ;  but  we  journeyed  together, 
and  here  I  am.  These  are  but  the  hurried  outlines  of 
my  history ;  if  I  live  I  shall  give  you  incidents  enough 
to  fill  them  up  to  a  three-yolumed  novel.  But  this 
must  do  for  to-night.  You  know,  Goergie,  I  have  a 
story  to  hear." 

"  Yes,  Carl,  and  you  shall  hear  it,  although  I  have 
told  you  nearly  all.  I  told  you  before  that  I  visited 
a 'grave  supposed  to  be  yours.  Oh,  what  a  night  it 
was !     You  must  have  that  name  changed." 

"  No,  I  mean  to  leave  it.  They  carried  it  rather 
far,  but  it  is  true  in  one  sense.  Blank  AhertJinay^ 
C.  S.  A.,  is  dead  and  buried.  There  is  poetic  and 
proper  justice  in  that  inscription.  A  leader,  as  he  was 
proud  to  be  in  this  great  contest ;  one  of  those  who  set 


306  AT  axchoe: 

this  terrible  ball  of  battle  rolling,  he  owed  his  grave 
to  his  enemies,  and  of  him  remains  only  a  mutilated 
name,  and  three  letters  that  tell  the  histoiy  of  his  life 
and  his  death,  his  sin  and  his  shame.  How  like  the 
prophetic  wish  of  your  favorite  poet : 

'  Amerique,  6  patrk  !  Amerique,  6  ma  mere  ! 

S^il  est  un  de  iesjih  assez  lacJie  et  wlgaire^ 

Pour  fenteridre  offeiiser  et  pour  te  renier, 

Seul,  sa}is  pleurs,  sans  regrets^  qu'il  tneure  tout  entler  ! 

Que  son  nam,  efface  des  pages  de  Phisioire, 

Efface  de  tout  cceur  et  de  toute  memoire, 

Entoure  du  lincevl  d'un  iter  net  ouhli, 

Dans  la  nuit  du  tombeau  descende  eyisevelV  " 

Adrien  Kouquette, 

"  And  now,"  said  my  Uncle  Tom,  "  what  is  to  be 
the  next  move  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  am  strong  enough  I  am  going  into 
your  army,  and  repair  as  well  as  I  can  some  of  the 
injury  I  have  done  the  country." 

"  And  it  shall  be  my  part,"  added  my  uncle,  "  to 
get  your  commission.  Don't  give  yourself  a  moment's 
thought  on  the  subject.     I  will  attend  to  it." 

"  Commission  me  no  commissions,"  Carl  said ;  "  I 
have  always  had  great  regard  for  the  good  son  who 
stayed  quietly  at  home,  and  for  whom  the  fatted  calf 
was  never  killed.  I  have  no  right  to  any  of  the  honors 
of  the  land,  and  yet  it  is  an  honor  to  wear  the  uniform 
of  the  United  States  in  any  capacity.  I  shall  be  grate- 
ful if  I  can  be  allowed  to  wear  it  in  its  humblest  man- 


A   STORY    OF    OUK   CIVIL   WAR.  307 

N 

ner,  and  shall  be  glad  if  I  am  permitted  to  take  my 
chances  at  the  eleventh  hour  with  those  who  have 
borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day.  Don't  cry, 
Georgie  ;  I  haven't  gone  yet." 

"  Half  my  tears  are  tears  of  pride.  Xo  king  ever 
laid  down  his  crown,  and  took  up  the  cowl  of  a  monk 
with  purer  charity,  and  higher  courage  than  you  have 
changed  the  livery  of  secession  for  that  of  govern- 
ment! I  am  proud  of  you,  dear  Carl,  for  I  know, 
darUng,  what  it  has  cost  you  to  do  it.     God  knows, 

too." 

"  It  costs  much,  and  yet  less  than  you  think.  It  is 
the  only  thing  that  I  could  do.  It  is  not  a  matter 
that  admits  of  question  or  doubt ;  it  is,  indeed,  a 
luxury  to  do  a  work  that  is  so  clearly  chalked  out.  I 
think  the  pains  of  doubt  and  indecision  are  very  nearly 
the  severest  pains,  and  the  most  difficult  to  bear  of  any 

in  this  world." 

"  I  think  so  too,  Carl,"  I  said,  "  and  I  think  as 
well  it  is  a  luxury  to  do  a  work  that  is  so  clearly 
marked  out  as  mine." 

"  Yours  !  "  echoed  Uncle  Tom,  "  a  woman's  work  ! 
What  might  be  the  labor  of  your  life  ?  " 

«  Woman's  work  has  generally  no  name,  but  it  is 
none  the  less  a  work,  even  though  it  is  nameless,  or 

well  loved." 

"  I  never  knew  her  to  do  any  thing  in  her  life," 
my  Uncle  Tom  said  to  Carl ;  "  she  isn't  even  president 
of  a  sino-le  benevolent  association." 


308  AT   AXCHOE. 

"I  have  something  to  do,  nevertheless,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  love  Carl,"  I  answered,  and  I  have  been 
doing  it  ever  since. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

AYhat  more  can  I  tell  you,  ye  patient  friends,  who 
have  followed  me  through  all  my  faults  and  follies 
safe  to  my  anchorage  ?  As  the  painter  who  repre- 
sented a  father's  grief  by  a  face  covered  with  a  mantle, 
signifying  it  could  not  be  expressed,  would  I  paint 
my  exceedingly  great  happiness  for  you ;  only  the 
mantle  should  be  of  golden  texture,  and  of  dazzling 
loveliness. 

My  husband  grew  stronger  and  nobler  even  than 
of  old,  and  as  soon  he  could  he  fulfilled  his  intention 
of  going  down  as  a  private.  How  few  who  read  these 
lines  will  need  to  be  told  what  days  of  agonizing 
suspense  and  racking  terror  followed  his  departure. 

Days  came  and  went,  and  those  who  loved  me 
kept  up  the  courage  that  would  sometimes  fail,  by 
assuring  me  the  days  could  not  be  long  before  the  war 
would  be  over,  and  so  they  have  gone  on  telling  me. 
But  the  day  came  when  my  personal  terror  and  dread 
were  to  have  their  end. 


310  AT   ANCHOR  *. 

One  day  I  read  my  husband's  name  in  the  paper,  a 
few  more  and  I  was  with  him. 

"  My  fighting  days  are  over,  "  he  said,  mournfully, 
"  I  shall  never  be  fit  for  service  again.  It  is  too  soon ;  I 
did  hope  you  would  have  had  a  soldier's  sword  to 
show  to  our  children,  but  a  sergeant's  uniform  and  a 
musket  are  all  there  is  to  cover  the  stain  of  rebellion." 

"  It  is  all  wiped  out,"  I  said ;  "  there  is  no  stain  left. 
And  now  I  have  back  your  honor,  and  I  have  you,  my 
darling,  never  to  lose  you  again,  to  be  hands  for  you 
evermore,  my  darling  Carl.  Hush !  not  a  word,  I  am 
your  tyrant  henceforth,  and  oh !  what  a  tyrant  I 
shall  be ! " 

A  few  days  ago  he  called  me  to  him.  "  In  your 
duty  to  the  country,  do  not  forget  youi*  duty  to 
society,  Georgie  pet.     Read  this,"  he  said. 

And  I  read,  under  the  head  of  "  Marriages,"  in  the 
Herald : 

"  Stuart —  Ya?ie. — On  Thursday,  at  the  residence 

of  L.   C.  Carter,  Esq.,  Gilbert  Stuart,  Captain 

Mass.  Vols.,  to  !Miss  Gertrude  Yane,  eldest  daughter 
of  G.  "W.  Yane,  Brig.-Gen.  C.  S.  A.  Richmond  papers 
please  copy." 

"  It's  Stuart  and  Yane^  notwithstanding,"  my  hus- 
band said. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  but  he  has  taken  a  different 
manner  of  vanity." 

"  Well,"  added  my  husband,  "  I  am  glad  friend 


A    STOEY    OF    OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  311 

Stuart  is  At  Anchor  at  last.  There  is  anchorage  for 
all  of  us  if  we  are  only  patient  and  faithfully  follow 
the  light  that  is  within  us.  Which  sentiment,  by  the 
way,  being  very  true,  suggestive,  and  exceedingly 
well  expressed,  will  do  for  the  moral  of  your  book." 

"  I  wouldn't  end  up  with  a  moral,"  I  replied,  "  for 
any  thing  in  this  world.  K  you  and  I  haven't  lived 
long  enough  to  prove  a  warning  or  an  assistance  we 
had  better  give  up." 

"  I  haven't  an  idea  of  such  a  thing  as  giving  up," 
said  Carl,  "  we  are  only  just  beginning  to  live.  I  feel 
that  you  and  I  have  not  battled  so  long  for  nothing, 
but  that  through  all  we  have  been  preserved  and 
strengthened  for  some  thoroughly  good  work  even  in 
this  world.  There  is  nothing  we  cannot  do  if  we  work 
together.  I  have  seen,  at  the  seashore,  boats  rocking 
idly  on  the  waves,  day  after  day,  when  suddenly  I 
would  see  them,  sails  spread,  flags  flying,  and  all 
hands  busy,  dashing  bravely  ofi"  to  sea.  Perhaps  they 
had  been  hauled  up  for  repaii-s,  as  we  are ;  at  any 
rate,  they  sailed  none  the  less  swiftly,  and  were  none 
the  less  strong  and  secure  for  having  lain  At  Anchor, 
at  the  Master's  will.  There's  a  moral  in  spite  of  you, 
Georgie." 

THE   END. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 

57 

C.2 


